


Second Chances

by mynothingness



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Nurse Nicky, Omega Nicky, Soft Nicky, alpha joe, artist Joe - Freeform, enemies to friends speed run, protective Joe, soft joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:36:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynothingness/pseuds/mynothingness
Summary: When Joe landed in NYC and turned up at the apartment he's supposed to be sharing with Booker for the next several months, he wasn't expecting to have the door shut on his face by a grumpy Italian instead.When Nicky walked out of an 8-year relationship and crashed at Booker's apartment to figure things out, he wasn't expecting to have his life turned upside down by his unwanted new housemate instead.And neither was expecting to find his second chance at love, family and belonging in the other.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Original Male Character, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova/Original Male Character
Comments: 193
Kudos: 571





	1. Accidental Housemates

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a very, very self-indulgent story that's been stuck in my head for months, and I finally decided to write it down. The alpha/beta/omega dynamics are very much in the background, and there's no smut. However, mpreg does play a central role in the plot, and I do realize that it's not everyone's cup of tea. I will update the tags with additional content warnings as I update the chapters. They're mostly written, so I should be posting them fairly regularly. I hope you enjoy! <3

Joe stepped out of the cab and onto the pavement, staring up at the aging brownstone building before him. It was a beautiful early fall afternoon, a pleasant breeze whipping red and gold leaves from the trees lining the street about him. But Joe barely noticed, too tired from his transatlantic flight and the mad rush of the past week, when he’d had to abruptly wrap up his life in Amsterdam and fly to New York a whole two weeks ahead of schedule.

He pulled his phone out to check his messages yet again. Nothing yet from Sebastien le Livre (‘call me Booker’), the man whose apartment he was to share for the next six months. “Fuck,” Joe muttered under his breath. He’d messaged the man last night to let him know when he was arriving, but he hadn’t heard back from him. And his phone had been switched off all morning; Joe had been trying to call him ever since he’d landed in JFK international three hours ago. He looked up at the building again. Well, there was nothing for it; he was just going to have to go up to apartment 4B and hope to god Booker was home. Maybe he’d just overslept and not checked his phone. Or something.

With a sigh, he hoisted up his bags, and walked up the stairs to the entry door. Thankfully, a silver-haired man walked out just as he got to the door, and Joe was able to push his way into the building before the door closed. At that point his luck seemed to run out. The building had no elevator, and Joe had the joy of dragging himself and his luggage up four flights of steps. 

When he finally stood before the dark wood door with the peeling paint and the slightly askew 4B on it, Joe took a deep breath before knocking sharply _. Open the door,_ he thought, _please be home._ But as the seconds ticked by with no response, he felt something akin to panic begin to crawl under his skin. Because, at the age of 33, Joe Al Kaysani was still every inch the starving artist. He’d blown most of what he’d made with freelance work during his stint in Amsterdam on this plane ticket to NYC, and come here on a wing and a prayer because he loved the sound of the tiny independent gallery that had offered to employ him. If Booker abandoned him, he was going to be out on the streets of one of the most expensive cities in the world with little to no savings to his name.

Quelling both the panic and the sound of his father’s disapproving voice in his head (“what sort of life is this for a grown man to lead, Yusuf?”), he straightened his back, and knocked again, louder this time. He’d handle this, just like he’d handled everything else in the last decade of his life spent wandering the world in search of art and beauty. Then he’d kill Lykon for passing Booker’s number on to him and vouching for the erratic Frenchman (“he’s a miserable bastard, but he’ll have your back”). Well, he’d kill him whenever he got to see him next, seeing that the guy was currently filming a documentary somewhere in the heart of the Kenyan wild…

When the door jerked open, Joe felt his heart jolt in relief. “Booker?” he said, as a single pale eye appeared in the crack.

“Booker’s not here,” the scratchy voice on the other side of the door said, with an accent familiar to Joe from his time spent in Florence. Italian, then, not French.

“Oh,” Joe said, nonplussed for a moment. He hadn’t realized there were other housemates – Booker had made it sound like it would be just the two of them. Oh well, he could deal with it. After all, he’d once shared a one-bedroom flat with seven others during a particularly lean phase. “Sorry to disturb you,” (since the dude had clearly still been asleep at 1.15 p.m.), “but I’ve just arrived in the country, and I’m supposed to be rooming here with Booker? I’ve been in touch with him, he knows I’m coming today. My name is Joe.”

There was a moment of unnerving silence, and the door, which was still chained on the inside, didn’t open any further. At least it hadn’t shut on his face. Yet. “He didn’t tell me anything,” the voice said, sounding grumpy.

Joe felt his patience starting wane. He was going to kill Lykon AND Booker. Back to back. And enjoy every moment of it. “Listen, I get that, but I’ve just come off a night flight, and I’m exhausted. Can I at least come in and wait for Booker to get back so we can sort this out?”

Another silence. Then, “Booker’s travelling. He isn’t going to be home any time soon. You’ll have to come back later.”

When the door started closing, Joe lunged forward with all the desperation of a jetlagged man with nothing to lose, and tried to brace it open. “Hey, hey, hey, wait,” he said, “Look, I can show you the messages we exchanged…”

But it was no use. The Italian had anticipated his move and slammed the door shut with surprising speed, so Joe barely escaped with his fingers and toes intact. _Fuck._ “Hey!” he shouted, banging on the door. “C’mon man, just hear me out. I have nowhere else to go!”

Silence. He banged again twice, thrice, with no reaction except for another door further down the hall opening and a head – female and elderly from what he could make out – peering out.

Joe dropped his hand in defeat, breathing hard. He definitely didn’t need to be arrested for disturbing the peace on his first day on American soil. He stepped away from the door, and raised his hand in mute apology to the woman down the hall, who promptly slammed her door shut. He ran a hand over his face, his anger subsiding as quickly as it had flared, leaving bone deep exhaustion in its wake.

He sank down to the floor in the dimly lit corridor to one side of the apartment door, and tried to collect his thoughts. He’d have to find some place to crash for the night while he figured things out. Surely he’d be able to contact Booker at some point tomorrow and work this out. He pulled out his phone and redialed the man’s number, gritting his teeth in frustration when it went straight to voicemail again.

“Booker, this is Joe again. I’m outside your apartment, and your housemate just locked me out. Can you please fucking call me back?” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking.

Then he ended the call and leaned back against the wall, his head swimming with lack of sleep. He couldn’t just squat here indefinitely, he knew that. It would only be a matter of time before one of the neighbors called the cops on the brown, bearded stranger in the hallway, whether or not he was disturbing the peace. But god, he was tired, and the idea of dragging his heavy bags back down the stairs… no, he’d just sit here for a few minutes, and then he’d find someplace to go, he thought, as his eyes fluttered shut. Just a few minutes. 

* 

The next thing he knew was the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder gently. He slowly forced his eyes open, blinking at the face that swam into view. Large sea-green eyes were watching him carefully, framed by chestnut hair curling past his ears, and plush pink lips were pursed in concern. The face was almost angelic, except for the strength of its Roman nose, and that sharp, stubborn jawline. Joe blinked again at the vision, mentally already planning how he would sketch its fascinating contours.

“Joe, right?” the vision said, and the lingering clouds of sleep cleared from Joe’s mind completely at the sound. This was no angel; this was his nemesis from the other side of the door of Booker’s apartment.

Joe sat up straighter, rubbing at his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, pushing himself stiffly to his feet. He didn’t want to be at any more of a disadvantage when dealing with this asshole than he already was. As they stood face to face, he saw that the man was slightly shorter than him, and dressed in a baggy grey hoodie and soft blue jeans.

The other man – omega, Joe realized as the scent, sweet, strong, and oddly familiar, reached him for the first time – seemed to be sizing him up too, chewing on his lower lip. Then he said, abruptly, “I guess you’d better come in,” and turned to head back into the apartment.

Joe stared after him for a second. _What had just happened?_ Then he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and grabbed his bags to follow quickly before the temperamental Italian changed his mind.

The tiny apartment, shabby but homey, was just as it had been in the pictures Booker had sent him. The man stopped by the sagging couch in the living area and said, “Do you want to freshen up? The bathroom is over that way.”

Joe realized that he did need to pee quite desperately, and nodded. When he came back out, having splashed his face with water, and generally feeling more awake and human, he saw that the man was still waiting for him in the living area, hands pushed into his jeans pockets.

“So did you manage to get through to Booker, then?” Joe asked. “His phone was still switched off the last time I tried it.”

The man shook his head, a lock of soft brown hair slipping down over his forehead, which he promptly tucked away behind his ear. “No, I couldn’t reach him. But I spoke to Nile – they work together, she’s a photographer too – and she vouched for you. Said Booker had mentioned you would be coming, and that she knew who you were.” He stopped and looked at Joe with those clear eyes of his. “I’m sorry, about before. I was half-asleep and… not really at my best.”

Any residual anger Joe might have felt towards the guy melted away at that. “It’s okay.” He shrugged. “I mean, I get it. I can’t believe Booker forgot to tell you about me.” Then the name he’d mentioned registered. “Wait, Nile, as in Nile Freeman?” A nod. “I know of her too… she’s worked with my friend Lykon before. She’s great, super talented.”

A tiny smile bloomed on the man’s face. “Yeah, she is.” He looked at Joe again. “I’m Nicky, by the way.”

Joe grinned at him, and felt something warm in his chest as he got another small, barely there smile in response. “Hi Nicky. Nice to meet you. So… are we going to be housemates? Where the heck _is_ Booker, anyway?”

The smiled slipped away, and Joe regretted his words without even understanding why. “Booker… he got some bad news.” As Joe’s eyebrows drew together in a frown, he continued, “His older son, Jean-Pierre, he’s sick.” He hesitated. “I mean, he’s been sick for some time, but he took a turn for the worse yesterday, so Booker rushed down to Boston last night. That’s where his ex-wife lives.”

His lingering annoyance with Booker disappeared completely. “Oh shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Nicky nodded. “Yeah, I didn’t even get to see him before he left. He just left the keys for me with Mrs. Mancini downstairs.” He ducked his head. “He’s letting me crash here for a few days until I find a place. I’m sort of… between homes right now.” He glanced at Joe from between his lashes. “So yeah, I guess you’re stuck with me until Booker gets back.”

“I can deal with that,” Joe said, with a wink, and winced internally at the way the omega’s face immediately shuttered. _Okay Joe, dial back the flirtatiousness_. The last thing he needed was the guy to decide the Joe was being an aggressive alpha or something and kick him out. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes; one of his ex-boyfriends used to say that flirting was like breathing to Joe, and yeah, he wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. “So, um, where do I keep my stuff?” he said into the awkward silence that followed. 

“Oh yes, sorry.” Nicky showed him to one of the two doors by the bathroom Joe had just used. “This is your room. I’ve been using it since yesterday, but I’ve moved my things to Booker’s room now.” Joe walked in, taking in the neatly made bed, the dresser against one wall, and the desk against the other, with the afternoon sunlight pouring in between the two. It’ll do, he thought, dropping his bags down. “I wanted to change the sheets, but,” Nicky’s patrician nose wrinkled, “Booker doesn’t seem to have any other clean bed linen. I can wash them right away and…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Joe said, cutting him off. “Really, don’t worry about it.” He lay back on the bed with a sigh. “I think I’m gonna crash for a bit,” he mumbled, feeling his eyes closing again. He did not do well with lack of sleep, and knowing things had worked out and that he had a roof over his head for the next few months had left him almost boneless with relief.

“Of course, get some rest,” he heard the other man say, and heard the soft click as he shut the door behind him. Joe remembered to kick off his shoes, and turned over, tucking his face into the soft pillow and breathing in the lingering scent of the omega.

Yeah, he really didn’t mind, either the sheets, or his accidental housemate, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.

*

This time, it was the loud sounds of traffic outside the open window that woke him up. He sat up, disoriented in the now-dark room as the events of the day trickled back into his mind. He checked his phone. Crap, it was past 7 p.m. He’d slept far too long, and now he was going to be up most of the night. Oh well, he’d just use it to get some work done.

The apartment was silent as he walked out of the room, drawn by the absolutely divine smell of food. He padded over to the little circular dining table behind the couch and saw a covered dinner plate with a Post-It note stuck on it. ‘I left you some dinner, if you’d like – N’, he read, written in a looping handwriting. Joe opened the plate and breathed in gratefully, even as his tummy rumbled. The last thing he’d eaten was the utterly crappy breakfast that had been served on the plane before landing, and he realized he was absolutely starving. He scarfed down the pasta while still standing at the table, almost moaning at how good it tasted.

Then he showered and went about unpacking, settling down on the couch with his sketch book once he was done. It was close to 11 p.m. and Nicky was still nowhere in sight; presumably the man was out for the night, and Joe had the place to himself.

He felt the last of the tension he’d been carrying in his body for the last few days slowly drain away as he began sketching with the sounds of the city outside for company. Tomorrow he’d go over to The Old Guard and touch base with Andy, and begin his stint with the gallery. He felt the flutter of excitement he always did in his belly at the thought of new beginnings, new faces, and new challenges. Despite the somewhat inauspicious start, he had a feeling that things in NYC were only going to get better.

*


	2. Mint Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A minor content warning for mentions of throwing up a couple of times in the chapter. Nothing graphic though!

The next couple of days went by in a flash for Joe, as he followed his usual process for settling into a new place and a new job. His meeting with the intimidating owner of The Old Guard gallery, Andromache Scythian (‘call me Andy’) had been fantastic, leaving him feeling pumped about the work he would be involved with. The woman was a force of nature, just as he’d heard, toned arms covered in tattoos, piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through to your soul, and an alpha swagger that wouldn’t be out of place in a Hollywood action star. She was one of the biggest names in the underground art movement on the East coast, with an almost mythic status among artists with an anarchist bent, and he knew he was bloody lucky to have a chance to work with her, even if he’d mostly be doing a lot of the backend grunt work that went into running a gallery. It still meant he would get to rub shoulders with some fantastic artists, and maybe, Andy had hinted, have a chance to showcase some of his own work in a group show sometime next year.

The time that wasn’t spent immersing himself in his new workplace and learning the ropes by deciphering Andy’s rapid, impatient commands as best as he could was spent wandering around the neighborhood, nosing out the tiny shops that sold the kind of foods and art materials he wanted with the ease of experience. That didn’t leave him much time to spend at the apartment, and when he was home, it seemed like his enigmatic housemate was either out or fast asleep, so he barely saw him at all.

The second night finally brought a call from a tired, harassed sounding Booker. “Joe, I’m so sorry man… just totally slipped my mind that you were coming earlier than planned,” he said. “Where are you staying? I tried calling Nicky, but he isn’t picking up…”

“I’m actually in the apartment right now, so don’t worry about it,” Joe said. “Nile filled Nicky in, and he let me in the afternoon.”

“Oh good. Thank God for Nile,” the other man said with a sigh.

Joe laughed as he tucked the phone against his shoulder, and continued to put together his dinner. “Yeah, that is the general consensus.”

“Listen, I’m going to be down here for at least the next week or so.” The man broke off as a high-pitched voice in the background interrupted, saying something in rapid French. “Sorry, things are a bit crazy here. You okay with sharing the place with Nicky for a bit? He’s a good guy, and probably a better roommate than me, to be honest.”

Joe chuckled at the self-deprecation, but didn’t disagree. Nicky, from what little he’d seen, seemed to be the model housemate. He left the common areas spotlessly clean, shared when he cooked, and barely made a sound when he came and went. “Yeah, no issues at all. I barely get to see the guy, but he seems okay. Well, except for the slamming the door on my face part,” he joked. 

“Yeah, that was mostly my fault,” Booker said. “Anyway, I’m glad it worked out. He’s going through some shit, and he needs some time to figure stuff out, so…” The voices in the background erupted again, and Booker sighed. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. Take care Joe, and try not to burn the place down before I get back, yeah?”

“Ha, will do. You too, Booker.” The call was disconnected before he’d even finished speaking, and Joe spent a moment staring down at the phone. He’d wanted to ask Booker about his son and how he was doing, but wasn’t sure it was his place. He barely knew the guy, after all. As he put the phone away and finished cooking, his mind wandered back to his absentee housemate. The only time he’d heard Nicky at all had been early that morning, when he’d been woken up by the sound of the man throwing up violently in the bathroom just down from Joe’s bedroom. It had still been dark out, and Joe had just fallen asleep an hour or so before, so he’d dropped back to sleep almost immediately. When he’d woken at past 8 a.m. and scrambled to get ready, the other bedroom door had been tightly shut; presumably Nicky was going to be sleeping it off during the day just like he had been the previous afternoon (he remembered him ducking his head, ‘I wasn’t at my best’). And, just like the previous evening, he was gone again by the time Joe got home that night. Whatever, the guy was ‘going through some shit’ as Booker put it, and if going on a bender a couple of nights in a row was his coping mechanism, Joe wasn’t going to judge.

When the same pattern repeated twice more during the week, though, Joe began to get a little concerned, and more than a little confused. Did the guy have a drinking problem? But his behavior otherwise hardly fit the profile. He remained the model housemate who did his dishes and never left clutter, and twice more had left delicious meals for Joe on the table in the evenings, a fact that he’d been deeply grateful for given the long hours he was putting in at the gallery and the fact that he was still fighting off the lingering effects of jetlag. In fact, Joe had taken to leaving thank you notes for Nicky on the fridge in return, since he never got to see him otherwise.

It finally came to a head at the end of the week, when Joe stumbled out of bed in the early hours of the morning to take a piss just as Nicky rushed past him into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Joe froze, wincing as he heard the man throwing up again. He glanced down the narrow hallway, and saw that Nicky had flung his jacket and bag on the ground in his hurry to get to the toilet. He just stood there, wondering what to do. On one hand, the guy probably had no desire to interact with a virtual stranger right now. On the other, damnit, he was worried. He didn’t know what was going on with Nicky, and he decided he would wait to see if the other man was okay or needed some help.

A few seconds later, he heard the flush go and the taps running, and then the door opened, and Joe got his second good look at his housemate of the past week. And what he saw wasn’t reassuring in the least. Nicky’s face was pale and clammy under the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom, and he looked absolutely exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. Even the color of the eyes seemed faded, closer to grey than green under heavy lids.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough as he began to push past Joe in the narrow corridor. “All yours.”

The scent hit Joe again, sweet omega with an edge of distress, and something sterile underlying it. Not like alcohol, no, more like antibacterial wash. And again, there was something so oddly familiar about his scent; where had Joe smelled it before? This time, his sleepy mind made the connection. _Of course._ It reminded him of his omega sister Nadia, when he was living with her in London. He’d moved in to help her out with the kids when she fell pregnant unexpectedly for the third time, and her husband was travelling constantly. Nicky was further down the hallway, picking up his discarded things when it all clicked into place.

“Mint tea,” Joe blurted out, without thinking.

Nicky turned around, confusion on his face. “Excuse me?”

Joe shook his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep away. God, his brain took so long to come back online after he woke up. “Fresh mint tea… it helps with morning sickness. My sister Nadia swears by it.”

For a moment, there was complete silence in the hallway, as Nicky seemed to freeze where he stood, and Joe wondered if he’d overstepped his bounds. Or gotten it totally wrong. But no, he didn’t think he had. Even as he watched, Nicky’s broad but bony shoulders seemed to sag, and he leaned against the wall as though he didn’t have the energy to keep standing.

“Yeah?” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yeah. I can brew it for you, if you like. Bought some just yesterday.” Joe gave him a little grin. “Think of it as a thank you for the delicious dinners you’ve fed me this week.”

That got him one of those tiny smiles as he’d hoped it would. “Okay,” Nicky said, his voice quiet. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Great, just give me a second to use the toilet, and then I’ll make it for you,” Joe said, perking up.

*

When Joe came out of the kitchen some ten minutes later, holding a cup of fragrant brew of mint, ginger and lemon in his hand, the light outside the window was just turning grey, and Nicky was slumped at the dining table with his head cradled in his folded arms. He wondered for a moment if the man had fallen asleep, but Nicky sat up as Joe came to the table and set the cup down. He leaned down, sniffing delicately at the brew, his messy mop of hair covering his face from view.

Joe slid down into the only other chair at the little table, and watched in gentle amusement as the omega then picked up the cup hesitantly, his long, capable-looking fingers wrapping around the warmth, and took a miniscule sip. Those large eyes peered up at Joe, and nope, not quite grey. More like grey-blue-green. With spots of gold in between. He’d never, in all his travels, come across eyes quite this color.

“This is amazing,” Nicky breathed, as he took another sip, and let out a gusty sigh. “So good.”

“I’m glad. It’s something of a family recipe, passed down from my mom to each of my three sisters.”

Nicky set down the cup and this time, those eyes had something wistful in them. “Tell your mom and sisters thank you,” he said, before burying his nose in the cup again. “You have to teach it to me. Nothing else has worked in _weeks._ ”

Joe’s heart twinged in sympathy. “Yeah, of course. And I’ll let them know, they’ll be thrilled.” He shifted in the chair, watching the other man. He wore another oversized hoodie, navy blue this time, and there was no pregnancy belly to be seen. “So how far along are you?”

The man scrunched up his nose. “Eleven weeks. It should get better soon. Hopefully.”

“ _Inshallah._ ”

Nicky’s eyebrows raised up. “Was that Arabic?”

Joe felt the familiar tension creep into his shoulders. It was never easy to predict who was going to be an asshole about his heritage and religion. Nicky didn’t seem the sort, but the years since 9/11 had taught him to be wary. “Yeah. It means ‘if Allah wills’.” Nicky just nodded. “I’m from Tunisia; parents still live there though my sisters and I are scattered all over the world.” He stuck his hand out. “Yusuf Al Kaysani.”

Nicky gave him another one of those little smiles, and reached out with his own hand. “Nicolò di Genova,” he said, and Joe felt his wariness drain away as he took Nicky’s tea-warm hand in his. “I grew up just across the sea from you. Genoa.”

Joe’s eyes lit up with interest. “Ah! It’s supposed to be gorgeous but I’ve never been. Is your family still there?”

The other man shook his head, and Joe watched with regret as the smile died away. “No family, no.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Another little shake of the head. “It’s okay, it’s not a secret. I grew up in an orphanage, just on the coast. Not the happiest time, but my fondest memories are of sitting climbing to the terrace, and watching the sea.”

“Mine too.” Their eyes met, and for a moment, Joe felt like he was looking into the smooth waters of Mediterranean itself.

“I still miss it,” Nicky added softly. “Haven’t been back in eight years.”

“It’s been 12 years for me.”

Nicky looked up at him, surprised. “Oh. Your parents…?”

Joe shrugged. “I see my mother when she visits my sisters to spend time with her grandkids. My father and I… don’t speak.” Nicky’s eyes had softened, and there was an understanding, a genuine empathy in them made a knot he hadn’t realized was there loosen in Joe’s chest. He found himself speaking in a rush, unburdening himself in a way he couldn’t remember doing in years. “I wasn’t the alpha son he wanted. I was supposed to take over the family business, and settle down with the omega girl of his choice. Not travel the world and make art.” He gave a derisive snort. “Especially _this_ sort of art. If I were the kind of artist whose work his cronies wanted to buy for thousands of dinars in swanky galleries, it might have helped.”

“Your art must be amazing if it caught Andy’s attention,” Nicky said with a calm certainty. Joe lifted his eyebrows in surprise, even as the words warmed him. “Nile told me you were working at The Old Guard,” he explained. “It’s huge, you know. Andy doesn’t allow just anybody into The Old Guard family.”

“Thank you.” Joe smiled crookedly, realizing how Nicky had both gently steered him away from the painful subject and lifted his spirits. “I didn’t realize you knew Andy.”

Nicky nodded as he took another sip of the tea. “I work with her wife Quynh at the hospital. I’m a nurse,” he clarified at Joe’s questioning look. “She’s one of the top cardiac surgeons in the state. She’s amazing.”

“Wow, they’re quite the power couple,” Joe said. He broke out into a grin as everything suddenly slotted into place. He was a _nurse,_ probably on the night shift for the week.

Nicky frowned at him. “What’s so funny?”

Joe’s grinned widened. “Nothing. It’s just,” he shook his head at his own stupidity, “this makes a lot more sense than my original theory.”

The other man still looked confused, though his lips were quirking into a smile as he watched Joe. “What was that?”

He coughed around a laugh. “I was convinced that you were out uh… drowning your sorrows in drink every night.”

Nicky stared at him for a second before bursting into the cutest little snort-laugh that Joe knew he had to hear again. “Oh no,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face so it turned pink, “I’ll never hear the end of it if Booker finds out.”

“ _I’ll_ never hear the end of it if Booker finds out,” Joe corrected ruefully. “If it helps, I thought you were an _extremely_ high-functioning alcoholic.”

“I appreciate that,” Nicky said, dryly, “thank you.”

A companionable silence descended over them, the streets outside still quiet in the pre-dawn light. Nicky finished the last of the tea, and Joe could see that he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He gently took the cup from his hands, and Nicky blinked at him owlishly. “Go, get some sleep,” Joe said. “I got this.”

“Mmkay,” Nicky mumbled. He stood, and Joe watched him carefully to make sure he was steady. “Thank you, for the tea.”

“No worries. Wake me up when you get home tomorrow morning, and I’ll make you some more.”

“I’m off tonight, thank god. You can make it for me at a more normal time, at breakfast,” Nicky said, his words slurring slightly.

“Done. Now go, shoo,” Joe said, waving him off. Nicky chuckled and shuffled off, as Joe gathered the cup and stood, watching to make sure the man made it safely to his room.

As he stood at the sink rinsing out the cup, he was aware that Nicolò di Genova was bringing every one of his protective alpha instincts to the fore. If Nadia was here, she’d be ribbing him about taking in yet another stray. Nicky wasn’t like the others, though, the young men and women, lost, alienated from the world and struggling with identity, the ones he’d taken under his wing over the years, not quite. There was a steadiness about him, a quiet centeredness in spite of everything. But he _was_ in trouble, pregnant, unmated (his slim neck above the loose hoodie had been smooth, no sign of a mark), apparently homeless, and alone in the world for all intents and purposes. It made Joe want to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him from harm. He didn’t know what the story was behind his current situation – he’d already forced the man to share more of himself than he had meant to – but it was clearly nothing good.

Joe set the cup away to dry, and braced his arms against the sink, thinking about how deeply they’d connected in just the past half an hour, the way Joe had shared parts of himself hadn’t with anyone in a long time. _Fuck it_ , he thought, he was going to brave Nadia’s teasing, and call her for some more morning sickness remedies this evening.

*


	3. Found Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads up: this chapter discusses children with cancer, both with reference to Booker's son, and to Nicky's job at the hospital. In keeping with the generally fluffy tone of this fic, there is nothing graphic or detailed. But if this is something that might be triggering for you, please do what you need to take care of yourself <3<3

Over the next couple of weeks, Joe and Nicky settled into a comfortable daily rhythm; so comfortable, in fact, that Joe sometimes felt like they’d known each other for decades instead of mere weeks. Nothing changed and yet everything felt different, because they just seemed to mold their existences to fit around each other.

Since Nicky was now on the regular day-time shift, they began their mornings together. Joe always made sure to finish his prayers and exercises in time to be in the kitchen, making coffee for himself and one of the herbal tea recipes his sister had sent to him (after merciless teasing) for Nicky when the other man emerged from his room looking grumpy and queasy, usually sporting a spectacular bedhead that made Joe grin. Then they’d get ready and grab breakfast (whatever was least likely to make Nicky hurl that morning) before leaving together, since Joe had discovered to his delight that the hospital Nicky worked at was just a bus stop away from the gallery.

When Joe got home in the evenings, the other man was usually already home, and Joe quickly learned that Nicky had good days and not-so-good ones. The good days were when he’d find him in the kitchen singing softly under his breath and trying out whatever recipe had caught his fancy that day. Joe knew his entrance in the kitchen would be greeted with a small smile that was mostly in the eyes, and a quick, typically Nicky questions about whether he was okay with the ingredients of the day, and “I can change it, _si_ , _si,_ _non c'è problema,”_ and dinner would be accompanied by as many of Nicky’s little snorts of laughter that Joe could coax out of him. 

On the bad days, Nicky would be curled up on the couch staring unseeingly at the TV. Rarely, on the really bad ones, the apartment would be quiet, a single light on in the entry way and the rest in darkness, with the door to Nicky’s room shut. On those days, Joe just let him be except for asking him what he felt like eating, and then getting him up for dinner. He never saw any tears, but the shadows under Nicky’s eyes said enough. Either way, they usually ended up side by side on the battered couch, plates in hand, watching cooking shows or sitcom reruns until, invariably, Nicky fell asleep mid-episode, tucked into his corner of the sofa.

Today, was clearly a good day, and Joe felt himself smiling reflexively at the sound of Nicky’s voice singing _Non sono una signora_ in the kitchen as he walked into the apartment. The smile grew wider when he went into the kitchen to see Nile perched up on the counter, drumming her heels against the cupboard doors in time to the beat. Because, one thing he had realized in the past couple of weeks is that Nicky wasn’t as alone in the world as Joe had assumed, and that Nile Freeman really was a blessing in every possible way. She and Joe had hit it off famously from the first time they met, going off on long and colorful discussions on art and photography and common acquaintances (mostly Lykon), as Nicky watched them with a tiny, pleased quirk of his lips, the book he was reading perched on his knees. When she left that first evening, the beta had grabbed Joe in a quick hug, and a whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here with him,” in his ear, before heading out the door.

She grinned as she saw him now, and jumped down from her perch, her braids bouncing. “Joe,” she laughed, as he swept her into a bear hug, “we were waiting for you!”

He set her down. “What for?” he said, reaching for a piece of the divine smelling sweet Nicky had just pulled out of the oven. “Baklava? Very nice, Nicolò!”

That earned him a rap on the knuckles. “It’s for Andy, Yusuf, and you know how she is about her sweets.”

“Oh crap, tonight’s the thing at Andy and Quynh’s place, right?” he said, rubbing his knuckles. “I forgot all about it.”

Nile rolled her eyes at him. “You literally spent the whole day working with her,” she said. “How the heck did you ‘forget’?”

“Andy doesn’t talk to me like I’m a real person at the gallery, Nile,” he said, flicking a piece of the baklava from behind Nicky’s back. “I’m not sure she even wants me at her house tonight.”

“Of course not,” Nicky said, with a little grin, “Quynh is the one who wants you there. And she’s a lot scarier than Andy.”

Joe shuddered theatrically, but allowed himself to be bullied getting ready to leave. Truth be told, he actually was a little nervous about the dinner. It was silly, because he prided himself on his ability to basically be able to talk to anyone, anywhere in the world. But in this short while, these people had all come to mean a lot to him, and he was anxious about being a part of this intimate gathering. He knew how close they all were, and he was beyond touched to have been included. Now, if he could just work his charm right, and get Quynh to like him…

As it happened, it turned out that it didn’t matter, because he forgot all about his nerves pretty much the moment he walked into their charmingly quirky loft apartment in the East Village. Every available space was crammed with incredible pieces of art that took his breath away – tribal art from around the world, sculpture that looked frighteningly ancient and seemed like it belonged in a museum, set against stunning bits of postmodern work that he knew he’d be quizzing Andy on by the end of the evening.

“Andy,” he breathed, “this is fucking brilliant.”

Andy laughed, one of those rare full-throated laughs that lit up her world-weary face and made her look stunningly beautiful, and Quynh, the small, spare powerhouse of a woman standing beside her in a gorgeous red sweater gave a sharp grin, and said, “Yeah, he’ll do,” and that was that. 

From then on, it felt like he’d always been part of this dysfunctional family, and after dinner, as he sat with Nicky by his side on the two-seater, Nile sprawled on the armchair, and Andy and Quynh with their legs entangled on the sofa opposite, it made him… feel things. Like some deep-seated desire to _belong_ that he didn’t even realize he’d felt had been quenched. He loved his sisters and their families, of course, but he was always the odd one out, the ‘cool’ (or ‘weird’, depending on the person) artist, the wandering uncle/brother with the crazy stories. He’d had dear friends, those he’d called family before, but – and he’d always hated to admit this to himself – those were all replaceable relationships that he’d formed over and over again in each of the places he went to. This… this felt different.

He was distracted from his thoughts when he heard Quynh coo, “Nicolò, you’re showing,” and he glanced over just in time to see Nicky blush all the way down his neck.

“Yeah, it just sort of… popped this week,” he mumbled, looking down, and placing one hand on the small bump that was visible under his dark sweater. Joe felt the familiar rush of affection (it was just affection, he told himself) and protectiveness for the omega, and judging by the strong spike in the scent of the two alpha women opposite, he wasn’t the only one.

“That’s adorable… hold on, I’m gonna take a pic,” Nile said, pulling out her phone, as Nicky groaned. “What? We need to document this…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at her unlocked screen.

“What is it?” Nicky said, looking at her with concern.

“It’s Booker… he wants me to call him,” she said, frowning. “I’m just going to…” She got up, putting the phone to her ear as she into the kitchen area. “Excuse me.”

A tense silence fell over the group as they watched her walk away, listening to the soft tones of her speaking. When she came back a few minutes later, her expressive eyes were full of emotion. “Nicky, he wants you,” she said, handing him the phone. “Jean-Pierre’s asking for you.”

As Nicky took the phone quickly and went in, Joe turned questioning eyes on Nile. “Is everything alright?”

She let out a long breath. “He said he’s going to be staying on there for the next couple of months. Said he’ll do whatever processing or backend work I need done long distance, if I could pick up the slack on some of the freelance assignments he’d lined up next month.” She bit her lip, looking upset. Joe didn’t think it was about the work load. 

“How Jean-Pierre?” Andy asked quietly.

“Scared. They’re starting the treatment with Dr. Bernstein tomorrow. That’s why he wanted to talk to Nicky.” When she saw Joe’s face, she added softly, “Nicky was Jean’s nurse, when he was first diagnosed with cancer five years ago. That’s how Booker and he met. Nicky and the boy really bonded, and Booker says that Nicky kept Booker himself from completely going off the rails.”

Joe felt something heavy settle in his chest. He couldn’t imagine what they had gone through. “He’s been sick five years?”

“In and out of hospital. It’s been rough,” Quynh said. Her voice was calm but her face was tight. “The strain of it more or less ended their marriage.”

“That’s when Nicky pretty much took Booker under his wing,” Andy said, staring into her wine glass. “Started bringing him around to our place on evenings like this, so he wouldn’t be alone.”

A small smile lightened Nile’s face. “Yeah, and Booker would call me the next day and said, ‘Nile, these women are terrifying, you gotta come and protect me,’” she recalled, and Andy grinned, obviously pleased. “That’s how we became family.”

As Quynh nodded fondly, Joe thought, _because of Nicky._ They were family because of Nicky. And Joe was fairly sure he was here that evening for the same reason; he doubted that left to herself Andy would have made the overture so quickly. He was pulled out of his thoughts as the omega came back into the room, handing Nile’s phone back to her. His eyes looked wet, and his scent was edged with distress.

“Booker says hi,” he said to Andy and Quynh as he sat down. “He had to go put the boys to bed.”

Andy nodded. “What’d the kid say?”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “He’s had to mature so fast because of everything he’s gone through… he sounded like a little adult, talking about ‘chances of success’. I just wanted to give him a hug.” He took a shuddering breath. “God, I hate not being able to physically be there to help them.”

“Bernstein’s clinical trials at Boston Children’s is their best bet, Nicky,” Quynh said, in what Joe was starting to recognize as her steady surgeon’s voice. “That’s why Emilie moved there.”

“I know.” Nicky sighed, his shoulders sagging, and Joe couldn’t stop himself, he put his arm around the other man, wondering if he was overstepping, and relaxing when Nicky leaned into the embrace. “I just… all I could do is stand there and promise him that everything would be fine, and… it felt like nothing.” His voice clogged up and he stopped.

“It’s what he needed to hear,” Nile said, her own voice shaky, and he nodded as Joe tightened his hold around him. “And it is going to be fine,” she said, more strongly. “It has to be.”

Joe could feel the other man taking a fortifying breath. “Joe, Booker told me to tell you he’s sorry for depriving you of his presence for even longer,” he said, turning to him with a watery smile.

Joe chuckled. “I’ll make do.”

The evening wound down after that, the air weighed down by their worry over Booker’s son, and soon they were getting ready to leave, Nicky looking more or less asleep on his feet. “Nicky, are you going to be at the hospital tomorrow?” Nile asked, as she pulled on her jacket. “Ajoy just confirmed and I can make it too.”

Nicky’s eyes brightened. “That’s great! Of course, I’ll be there.”

Joe frowned at him. “I thought it was your day off.”

“A bunch of us volunteer to spend time at the children’s wards on Saturday mornings,” Nile explained. “My friend Ajoy does theater, he’s a wonderful guy, I do some photography…” She stopped and poked at Joe. “You should come too! Do some art with them. They’re amazing kids.”

“I’d love to,” Joe said promptly. “I’ve been doing workshops with kids for years, some art therapy too. I’ll be there. What time…?” he said, turning to Nicky, and then stopped as the words seemed to dry up in his mouth. Because Nicky was looking at him like he sometimes did, when Joe did the smallest of things for him, eyes shining as though Joe had hung the stars and moon in the sky. It would always be for just an unguarded moment, but this time, Nicky didn’t look away, smiling at him instead, and it just… took his breath away.

“11 a.m.,” Nicky said, voice quiet.

“It’s gonna be fun,” Nile added. “You’ll love Ajoy.”

He glanced over at Andy, realizing he hadn’t checked with her. “Boss, are you okay with that? I can come over to the gallery in the afternoon, once I’m done.”

Andy, looking more mellow than he’d ever seen her before, said, “Yeah, yeah, go. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

“Thanks boss,” he said, with a crooked grin, before turning to hug Quynh. “Thank you for having me over.”

“Ooh, polite too,” the other woman said, surprising him into a laugh when she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Don’t fire this one, Andy. I like him.”

*

He did like Ajoy Banerji, a slim omega with honey-colored eyes and a cheeky laugh, Joe discovered the next day, very much. Ajoy was familiar, with that flirtatious smile, and the twinkle in his eyes when they met Joe’s. At any other time, Joe would have immediately responded, enjoying the easy banter he knew would follow.

But Joe unfortunately only had eyes for one omega in the room that morning, the one in sea-green scrubs that matched his eye-color stupidly well, and his soft brown hair pulled back in the most ridiculous little ponytail from which several wisps had already escaped. It wasn’t fair, Joe thought; no one should look as attractive as Nicky did in scrubs, an oversized grey cardigan and practical sneakers.

Nile was also right about the morning being fun and incredibly rewarding as this kind of work always was. Unfortunately, watching Nicky move around, helping the kids with the activities, and playing with the little ones who were too young to fully participate was… well, it was making Joe feel things again, okay? He hadn’t even fully recovered from being gazed at worshipfully by those eyes last night. Nicky was killing him.

They were in the large and sunny playroom/rec room of the pediatric cancer wing of the hospital, surrounded by toys and books and cheerful posters, and Joe was in the midst of a chaotic and colorful session of painting t-shirts and hats with some of the older kids, both patients and siblings, at the long, low table at one end. As he squirted out another massive blob of purple paint (which appeared to be the color of the day) into the common tray and helped a solemn-faced little girl with a bandaged eye create the unicorn (‘it’s an _alicorn,_ Joe’) of her dreams, he made the mistake of glancing up, and seeing Nicky across the room.

Nicky, who was watching Ajoy conduct a rousing session of ‘Baby Shark’ for the littles, and had the widest smile on his face, one of sheer happiness, one that, Joe realized with a little jolt he hadn’t ever seen before. Nicky’s eyes were alight, and the smile, oh, it was so unfettered, endearingly lopsided to the right, just above that perfect little beauty spot on his cheek. As Joe stood there, paint bottle clutched in one hand, the little girl’s hat in the other, Nicky bent to pick up the toddler who’d been stuck by his side almost the entire time, a chubby little guy with chocolate skin and a tight head of curls, bouncing him along to the movements of the song and… In later years, Joe would often tell the story of how that was when he _knew_ for sure _._ And Nicky would huff, and call him an incurable romantic, and give him a kiss.

But in that moment, all he was really aware of was being gut-punched by the intensity of what he was feeling. It wasn’t just affection, he had to admit that to himself. It was something so strong that it scared him. It made him want things he’d sworn to his father that he would never need to make his life complete. It made him want a family, a baby boy with tight curls and Nicky’s eyes. He wanted…

As though he felt his gaze, Nicky turned around, and what he saw on Joe’s face made his smile slip ever so slightly. And Joe looked away, heart clenching. Because it couldn’t happen, could it? Joe… he was here for maybe a year, max, and then he’d move on, like he always did. And that wasn’t what Nicky needed in his life right now. He needed a friend, someone in his corner, and Joe needed to get a fucking grip over himself.

He took a deep breath, and determinedly didn’t look over at the Nicky or the child in his arms again, focusing instead on the incredible kids before him, kids he could help in some small way at least. And when, as they left that afternoon, Ajoy suggested that they meet up one evening to watch an off-off-off-Broadway show, Joe gave him a smile, and saved his number on his phone.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Non sono una signora' ('I'm not a lady') by Loredana Bertè - Luca's sung along to this in two of his movies, so it seemed the perfect song for Nicky to sing along to with Nile here XD


	4. His story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to post Chapter 4 and 5 together, as they're closely linked -- Ch 4 ends on a point of high drama and Ch 5 picks up where it left off. Also Ch 5 ended up being a bit shorter than expected, so... you get more like one and a half chapters, I guess? XD  
> I hope you enjoy! <3

Nicky hadn’t expected Joe. Hadn’t expected, when he let Booker’s unwelcome new housemate in that afternoon that the man would turn his life upside down. Because that’s how it felt, being around Joe. Joe, with his riotous curls and sunshine smiles and dimples, and dark brown eyes that were the kindest he’d ever seen. Joe who, somehow, in just a month and a half, had woven himself into Nicky’s life so completely that Nicky wasn’t sure he remembered how he got along without him.

It wasn’t what he was expecting when he’d walked out of the relationship that was all he’d known for the last eight years, with an aching heart, a queasy stomach and the sinking realization that he’d – once again – messed his life up spectacularly. It hadn’t been what he’d expected when he’d dialed Booker’s number with hands that shook, and asked if it was okay if he crashed with him until he figured out where he would go.

As Nicky sat at the dining table one Saturday morning, drooping over the incredible mint-ginger infusion Joe had made for him, just as he did every single morning, he decided, somewhat grumpily, that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he had to deal with having this beautiful man around him all the time while also battling morning sickness and generally feeling like a limp dish rag. Also, it wasn’t fair that he was still _having_ morning sickness when he was 5 months along, but apparently some people were just lucky like that.

“Good morning,” Joe said, coming into the kitchen, and as Nicky looked at him, his sense of grievance increased. Yes, it was _definitely_ unfair that he had to look at Joe, sweaty and divine and muscly in his workout clothes, when his defenses were at their lowest. Joe’s pink lips ticked up in a teasing little smile as he took in Nicky’s disgruntled expression. “Still feeling crappy, huh?”

Nicky’s grumpiness melted away like mist in the sunshine and he found himself smiling back, just as he always did when Joe smiled at him. He couldn’t _not._ “Yeah,” he said, with a sigh, sticking his nose back in the cup. “Hey, I have to ask you something.”

Joe dropped down into the chair opposite, coffee in hand. “Shoot.”

He twiddled with the sleeve of his ratty old cardigan, suddenly second-guessing himself. “It’s just… whenever I ask you if I should buy halal, you tell me you don’t care,” he said, plowing on, “but… I noticed that you stocked up on halal meat when you went to the store yesterday, and I just…” Nicky trailed off.

“You’re confused?” Joe said, his smile softening.

Nicky nodded. “I meant it when I said I have no problem switching at all, Joe.”

“I know,” he said, with that same soft look. “It’s just… I genuinely am okay either way. I’ve spent the past 12 years travelling in over 20 countries, and especially in the early years, I had little to no control over what my next meal would be, you know?” He chuckled. “I ate what was cheap and available, couldn’t afford to be particular. And frankly, back then, my relationship with my religion was,” he pulled a face, “complicated.”

Nicky nodded again. “I understand. I didn’t step into a church for years after leaving the seminary.” He’d told Joe about it at some point, how the seminary had seemed like a natural progression from the orphanage, to stay close to what he knew and try and put some good in the world.

That hadn’t worked out so well.

“But nowadays, I try, when I can. I keep halal when in my sisters’ homes, and when I cook myself.” Joe shrugged again. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Nicky wondered if the other man even realized how often he said that. ‘It doesn’t matter’, ‘don’t worry about it’. “It matters to me, Joe,” he said gently, “so I’ll make the switch from now on.” Then he quickly dropped his gaze back to the tea because the look in those eyes was going to make him cry. Dammit, if he ever met whoever it was that convinced Joe he wasn’t worth caring about… well, actually, he had a pretty good idea who it was. It was probably better he didn’t meet Joe’s father, over all. “You’ve really been to 20 countries?” he said instead. “That’s amazing.”

Joe’s smile widened into a happy grin, all eye crinkles and deep dimples, and he leaned back and folded his arms. It was, Nicky knew, his ‘let me tell you a story’ look, and it filled his chest with an intense fondness. “Yup, at one point I was so obsessed with it that I carried a dog-eared map around with me all the time, and tacked it up to the wall of wherever I was staying, just to keep adding to the places I’d seen.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing like it, you know? The thrill of a new place; everything from the way the air smells, to the food in the roadside stalls and god, the people, the conversations, the art and the cultural history. It’s… everything.”

Nicky listened, his chin propped on his hand, a tiny smile tugging at his lips, discomforts temporarily forgotten as he watched Joe talk. It was his favorite Joe thing – well, one of his favorites – the enthusiasm sparkling in his eyes as he rambled on. “How about you?” Joe said, tipping his head. “How many countries on your map?”

The pleasure faded abruptly, the old tightness returning to his chest. “Just two,” he said, not making eye contact. “Italy, and here. We… I’ve travelled a bit within the US, but… that’s it.”

He stopped, knowing he’d let more than he’d intended to slip with the ‘we’. He knew Joe had noticed his discomfort. Joe always noticed.

“Well, that’s pretty normal. Nadia says I’m the weird one, that I’ve inherited some sort of nomadic gene from our ancestors,” Joe said easily. A silence, then he added, “How did you end up here in NYC, anyway?”

Nicky didn’t answer right away, the tightness in his chest increasing. “You don’t have to tell me, Nicky. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Joe started quickly.

That did it, of course. Joe, of all people, had nothing to apologize for. “No, it’s okay.” Nicky took a deep breath. He could do this, he could tell Joe about it without losing his shit. “I came here to be with Ryan,” he said finally, looking up to meet those warm eyes. “We met in Genoa… It was shortly after I left the seminary, and I was a bit of a mess. Trying to work two jobs and put myself through nursing school.”

That period of his life was still a blur in his mind. The only thing anchoring him to reality then had been Sister Sophia, the omega nun from the orphanage who counselled him. The one he used to hang around the kitchen with for hours when he was younger, and whose recipes he still used. The closest thing he’d had to a mother, truly. She was the one who’d held him after… after it happened, and told him there were other ways to do good. She’d even helped him gain admission to the one-year nursing program. 

“He’d come as part of an exchange program from his university, and we would meet every day at the café where I waited tables in the evenings. We hit it off, ended up spending a lot of time together, and then we kept in touch after he left. When I finished my degree, he told me come to New York, to be with him.” He ran a hand through his hair. God, it was getting annoyingly long. “For me, I think it was a chance to escape… for a new beginning.”

Joe nodded, dark eyes filled with understanding. “So I did… I took the cheapest flight to New York. Took me 18 hours with connections,” he chuckled, “but I made it. There was this huge nursing shortage here at that time, you know, and I found a job very quickly, once he helped me take the equivalency exams. And I just… stayed.” He swallowed. “Ryan was putting himself through law school by then, and I was able to support him until he passed the bar and found a job. It seemed like the least I could do.” He fell silent.

“And then?” Joe prompted gently.

Nicky shrugged, suddenly tired. “And then I found out he’d been cheating on me with the daughter of the senior partner of his law firm for the past year, and I walked out even though I’d just found out I was pregnant a month before.”

“Fuck.” Joe let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Nicky.”

He shook his head. “I think on some level I’d known for a while… we barely even saw each other, with the long hours he worked and my shifts.” He took a breath. “It’s just… I just wanted it to work out so badly, you know? A family, stability… that’s all I’d ever wanted.” Something flickered in Joe’s eyes, but it was gone before he could place it. “Anyway, that’s my pathetic tale of two cities.”

“No,” Joe’s eyes were fierce, “that’s the tale of a man who’s been dealt shit cards, and has come out the other side with grace, kindness and dignity.”

For a moment, Nicky just stared at him, at a loss for words. Then he huffed, running a hand over his face. “How do you do that?” he mumbled.

“Do what?”

He waved his hand vaguely in Joe’s direction. “Know exactly what to say.”

“It’s easy when it’s the truth.”

Nicky looked at him, eyes wide. _Stop being so perfect_. _My heart can’t take it._ He didn’t know how much of what he was feeling showed in his eyes, but Joe suddenly stood and came closer.

“Can I give you a hug?” he asked, softly.

Nicky knew he should say no. Joe wouldn’t push. He was already in too deep. But, god, it had been so long since he’d just been held, and he was so incredibly lonely, and… “Okay,” he said, his voice small. “Yeah.”

Then he was being engulfed in the warmest hug he’d had in a very long time. Nicky melted into those strong arms, almost boneless, and unable to help himself, tucked his face into Joe’s neck, his soft beard tickling Nicky’s cheek, and inhaled his earthy, musky alpha scent. “Perfect,” he mumbled, having lost any and all control over his higher cognitive facilities.

“What?” Joe said.

“Your hug. Perfect. Just like you.” Yes, he was utterly beyond hope.

Joe chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “Hah. If you tell my family that, they’ll literally keel over laughing,” he said, his face tucked against Nicky’s shoulder.

“I’ll fight ‘em,” Nicky muttered darkly.

He laughed, patting Nicky on the back. “Ah, I’m touched. But there’s no need, _habibi_.”

Yes, Nicky had no hope. None at all.

*

The next couple of weeks went by in a daze for Nicky. Work was busier than ever; winter had begun and that meant his little patients falling ill, pneumonia and other complications affecting their treatments. What little time and energy he had left over was spent trying to find an apartment to move into. Booker had told him he could stay on indefinitely, but he knew he needed to find a place and settle down before the baby came.

Of course, finding a decent place within his budget and close enough to the hospital was proving to be a pain in the ass, as expected. And there was the little fact that he really, really didn’t want to leave Joe. He was being more than a little ridiculous, he knew that. There was no possible future for them. Leaving aside the fact that he was nearly six months pregnant with his ex’s child, and his life was a massive, flaming disaster, Joe was dating Ajoy. And they were the perfect fit, he knew that as well. Ajoy was beautiful, as lively, creative and free-spirited as Joe. More importantly, he was a wonderful person. Nicky was happy for both of them. He _was_. It didn’t matter that his heart twisted in his chest every time he saw them together. Them being together was as it should be.

He was the one who needed to get his life together _._ He sighed as he forced himself to focus on the listings in the newspaper lying open in front of him.

“Earth to Nicky.”

He looked up and smiled as he saw Nile drop down into the seat beside him at the café. She’d forced him to meet her there that afternoon because they hadn’t seen each other in a while. His smile faded when she promptly folded away the newspaper. “Hey, I was looking at that,” he protested weakly.

“Nicky,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders, “you’re here to take a break. Remember those? When you do fun things?”

“What I need is to find a place to stay,” he whined. “Find me a place to stay, Nile.”

“I found you three, and you hated them all,” she said ruthlessly. “Today, I’m taking you shopping.”

His eyes widened in horror. “That’s not a fun thing! That’s torture.”

She gave him a look. “Do you have something to wear to Quynh’s celebration dinner next weekend?”

Quynh had just been promoted to head of cardio-thoracic surgery, and it was a huge deal. She was the youngest woman to hold the post in the history of the hospital, and the first Asian. He bit his lip. “I have clothes, Nile.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you have anything that still fits you that isn’t this ancient cardigan? Quynh will kill you if you turn up at the restaurant in it, you know that. She’s been planning this for weeks.”

He knew when he was beat. “Fine,” he sighed, and she clapped her hands.

“Alright, let’s get something to eat, and then we’re going to have _fun._ ”

He sighed again and looked obediently at the menu for something that would stay down. Maybe she was right. Anything was better than not-looking for apartments and pining over his unavailable housemate, that’s for sure.

*

On the evening of the dinner, he changed at the hospital into the new clothes that Nile had found for him, a soft green sweater she said brought out his eyes, and black pants that actually fit over his swelling belly. And a jacket that actually buttoned over it. He had to admit it made him feel marginally more human to have clothes that fit. He glanced quickly at his phone to check the time, and realized that it was dead; oh well, he’d just get down to the restaurant and hope he wasn’t too late. His shift had gone a bit over time, with Head Nurse Kozak detaining him to drone on about something he’d done wrong (he hadn’t). He needed to pick his battles with her though – he was already on thin ice after the last time he’d superseded her instructions – so he’d just let her talk.

As he hurried into the restaurant, and gave Andy’s name to the maître d’, he let his eyes wander over the stylish interiors, all cream and gold, easily picking out where he could see his friends were in the process of being seated. Ah, he wasn’t too late then. He frowned, realizing as he watched that something was wrong. Quynh’s face was tight, and she and Andy appeared to be arguing. That wasn’t right; this was Quynh’s night. Nile was looking at her phone, with a worried look on her face, and Joe had his face turned towards a table a little further down from them, a circular table with a large group seated around it…

It took him a few seconds to understand what he was seeing. Oddly enough, it was Rachel he recognized first, Ryan’s brilliant, acerbic sister, who looked bored, her mother beside her, a small, mousey woman who looked intimidated by the place and the people. And next to her, Ryan Huggins himself, dark blonde hair swept back from his face, his hand entangled with Laura’s, the diamond ring on her hand winking even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. Beside her, their backs to him, Laura’s father, a cold alpha he’d met many times at Ryan’s boring office parties, and his even more unapproachable wife. 

The air seemed to have leave his lungs altogether, and there was a buzzing sound in his ears. He was vaguely aware of the maître d’ asking him a question, but he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the table, and the sick, dawning realization of what he was seeing. It was an engagement dinner. His boyfriend of 8 years, and the woman he’d been seeing for a year behind Nicky’s back, and their families. He was going to _marry_ her. He could feel the blood rushing from his face, and the buzzing sound intensified, and Nicky wondered distantly if he was going to pass out.

Then suddenly, there was a warm, calloused hand on the back of his neck, the touch grounding him and bringing him back to himself.

“Breathe, Nicky,” Joe was saying, quietly, his hand sliding down to rest on his lower back. “We’re so sorry, we just came in and saw, and we couldn’t reach you in time. Quynh’s ready to leave right now, all of us are… whatever you need.”

Nicky blinked at him, taking in the concern in his eyes, then looked beyond him at the maître d’ who was watching them, torn between annoyance and curiosity, and beyond him at Quynh, whose face looked so pinched, and Andy, who was glaring so hard to Ryan that he was surprised the man hadn’t keeled over, and he took a deep breath as the buzzing receded slowly.

“No,” he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. “I don’t want to leave. I’m not going to let Ryan ruin Quynh’s night.”

Joe searched his eyes for a moment, and smiled, and the sight of it made weight on his chest lighten. “C’mon then, let’s get you seated.” He flashed the maître d’ a charming grin and led Nicky to the table, his hand staying possessively on his back, his warm body close to Nicky’s throughout, and Nicky thought he had never been more grateful to another person in his whole life. Because Joe had not just rescued him as he stood there floundering, but had done it in a way that made anyone watching assume that they were together. They had the complete attention of both tables, he knew that, even as he blindly followed where Joe led him; Quynh and Andy were relaxing and finally sitting down, and Nile was waving them over to the seats beside her, and Nicky could almost feel Ryan’s gaze on him and Joe like a physical thing as he sat down at the table, sandwiched between Nile and Joe on either side.

He took another deep breath. He could do this. With the people he loved the most around him, he would survive this dinner, and do it with his dignity intact.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I know that Greg uses 'habibi' as an endearment between lovers in the comic, and it can be that, but~~ \--> (I was mistaken, Rucka doesn't use it in the comic... thanks reader for letting me know!)  
> Just to clarify, Joe is being teasingly affectionate when he uses 'habibi' here, as is often done with friends and family members, and not as an endearment between lovers.


	5. Ryan the Rat Bastard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for the brief mention of a previous miscarriage in this chapter. If you'd like to avoid it, you can skip the paragraph beginning "His breath hitched..." and start again at "The tears had started now, and they wouldn’t stop." As always, please do what you need to take care of yourself <3

If you asked Nicky later what happened during that dinner, he wouldn’t have been able to give you a clear answer. All he could recall were brief interludes – the feeling of Joe’s arm draped over the back of his seat, grounding him, and Nile’s hand tangled with his on his lap. Being unable to stop himself from laughing at Quynh’s murderous monologue in the beginning (“of all the fucking times for Ryan the Rat Bastard to resurface… I swear to god Andy, if murder wasn’t against the Hippocratic Oath, and if I hadn’t worked so damned hard to get this promotion…”). The fizz of the ginger ale he’d ordered for himself because it both looked like the champagne they were all drinking and settled his tightly coiled stomach. Andy talking about finally going ahead with the new gallery in San Francisco – that had stuck in his mind because she had been talking about it for years, (“I’m never going to get to see you anymore anyway, Quynh,” she’d joked, “everything is falling into place.”)

The worst had been when he’d had to, by virtue of the baby drop-kicking his bladder, get up and to make the trip to the restroom, passing Ryan’s table along the way. He didn’t bother to acknowledge them, nor them him. But when he came back out of the restroom, he found Rachel standing there, waiting for him.

“Nicky,” she said, her voice hesitant.

It had disarmed him, because Ray was _never_ hesitant; she barreled through her life unapologetically, and he had, more than once, thought she had more grit and backbone in her little finger than her brother would ever have, and then felt vaguely guilty for thinking it. She proved it now, again, as she stepped closer and said, “How are you?”

He shrugged. “Fine.” There was a moment of awkward silence, then he added, “I know you called me a few times. I’m sorry, I just wasn’t up to…”

She shook her head sharply. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I called to apologize to _you_ for my brother being an asshole. I had no idea what was happening, Nicky, and I swear, mom and I were _so_ pissed off when—” She broke off. “I almost refused to come today, but he begged me to be here. Having an Ivy League graduate at the table adds some much-needed prestige to his side of the table, you see.”

Nicky bit his lip against the smile. He could imagine the scene with clarity. He wondered suddenly how he spent so many years with a man he’d had so little respect for. “Congratulations on graduation,” he said. He and Ryan were supposed to have driven down to Philadelphia to attend it in September, he remembered; instead he’d walked in on him and Laura in their apartment, and his world as he knew it had fallen apart.

“Thanks.” Her eyes dropped down to his stomach and back up. “How’s my niece or nephew doing?”

“Niece,” he said, and her eyes lit up. “Good. She’s fine.”

“I’d love to meet her, when she arrives. Mom too,” she said, the hesitancy back. “I know you don’t owe us anything, but…”

He felt an unexpected jolt of warmth in his chest at her words. His child wouldn’t be alone; maybe she would have some family after all, even if it wasn’t the way he had hoped it would be. “I’d like that,” he said, quietly.

She hugged him then, just as Andy had come up to check on him. “Everything okay here?” she said, the steel in her voice making it clear she was taking no prisoners.

God, he loved his friends so damned much.

He remembered thinking more than once during the course of the evening, even if he got fuzzier on the details as the dinner wore on. By the time they piled into cabs at the end of the night, he was mostly functioning on autopilot, and he wasn’t entirely sure when he got home or ended up on the couch next Joe.

“Nicky,” Joe was saying, “are you alright?”

He blinked at the other man, taking in how his skin seemed to glow golden in the light of the lamp by the sofa, his curls a soft halo. His eyes dropped down and he saw that his own cold hands were cradled in Joe’s warm ones, those slim, artistic fingers stroking rhythmically. Those hands, which had been grounding him one way or the other whole evening.

“Nicky,’ Joe said again, softly. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” he said, unsticking his dry lips. “Just tired.”

Joe hummed. “Do you want some food? You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

Nicky shook his head. He should get up, away from the cocoon of intimacy that seemed to be spinning around them, but he couldn’t make himself move. “I’m fine,” he repeated again, wondering detachedly why his hands were shaking.

Joe’s fingers tightened around them. “It’s okay not to be,” he said. “You know that, right? It’s okay to be upset or mad. You have every right.”

The shaking spread at the soft words, and his breath was hitching. He hadn’t cried, not once, in these past three months. He hadn’t let himself. “It didn’t hurt, seeing him again, not really,” he said finally, his voice somehow still steady. It seemed important to tell Joe this. “It made me realize I hadn’t been in love with him for a long time. Maybe ever.” _Not the way I am with you._ “But… it made me sad. I stuck around for all those years because I wanted _that._ I wanted a family, finally, people to call my own. But he didn’t want it with me. I waited to get pregnant all the years we were together because I wanted to do it right this time. I didn’t want to fuck it up again.”

His breath hitched, and suddenly, the words wouldn’t stop coming. He hadn’t told anyone this. Not even Ryan. No one knew but the priests at the seminary, and Sister Sophie. He looked up at Joe, drawing strength from the endless kindness in them. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been pregnant. It was why I left the seminary. There was another student, and I got stupid during a heat, and… even then, as a dumb kid, I knew I wanted that, wanted the baby. But the pregnancy ended before it even began. I couldn’t…”

The tears had started now, and they wouldn’t stop. “So I waited and waited this time. Ryan was supposed to be my second chance. But it was never the right time, he always said that. ‘Let me get established in at the firm. The hours are too long. Too many debts and student loans.’ It was an accident this time too, the pregnancy. All this time, all the waiting, and I fucked it up again.” He wasn’t sure when the tears had turned into silent, wracking sobs, or when Joe’s arms had come around him to hold him. “This baby was supposed to be _wanted_ and loved, safe and surrounded by family, and yet somehow, it’s just me and her again, it’s just me, there’s only ever me, and I don’t know if I can do it right, I can’t do it right because I keep fucking up…” _And people keep leaving. People always leave._

He was now crying so hard, he could no longer speak, but he heard Joe’s voice loud and clear. “Nicky, listen to me. First of all, you do have a family. And I don’t know about you, but I’d _much_ rather have Andy, Quynh, Nile and Booker than Ryan the Rat Bastard.” Nicky hiccupped on something between a laugh and a sob. “They will do anything for you and for your daughter. And so will I.” He handed a tissue to Nicky, who belatedly realized he’d gotten tears and snot… everywhere. All over Joe’s beautiful black sweater, especially.

“Oh god,” he mumbled, mortified, trying to wipe it up and spreading it further. “I wash it for you…”

Joe caught his wrist. “The tissue’s for your face, Nicky, for your darling eyes and nose. Not my sweater,” he said with a crooked smile.

Nicky stared at him, tissue still clutched in hand. “Darling nose?” he asked, a bit dazed, aware he was getting away from the topic a bit.

Was Joe blushing? “Yes,” he said, firmly. “Secondly,” he continued, “any child would be blessed to have ‘just’ you, okay? You’re the most caring person I’ve known, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified to love a child than you, the man who has dedicated his career to caring for children, and then spends his off-days caring a bit more. Again, Ryan is an unnecessary addition.”

His eyes were filling with tears again; Nicky hadn’t realized he had more to spare. “Thirdly,” Joe said, his voice gentling, “you aren’t that scared, lonely kid anymore. You’re 30 years old, with a steady job, and friends who would do anything for you. I’m so sorry you went through that then. But this isn’t the same thing, not by a long shot.”

The tears dripped down, the tissue lying forgotten in his hand. “So if you aren’t crying for him, then you don’t need to cry at all,” Joe said, taking the tissue and wiping gently. “Okay?”

He nodded, suddenly bereft of words. It was like Joe’s words, and the warmth and sincerity and truth behind them had not just taken away the pain, but stolen his words too. “Thank you,” he said, finally, his voice raw. He rubbed his hands over his face, knowing how dreadfully inadequate that was. “I don’t know how to thank you for…”

“Nicky, hush,” Joe said, holding his hands again, “I’m just glad to be able to be here with you and for you, and to be your friend for however long I can.”

Nicky looked down at their entwined hands and then up at Joe’s eyes, limpid in the lamplight, as the words sunk in. _Your friend… for however long I can._ He felt his heart twist. Because Joe would leave, sooner rather than later. He’d move on to the next beautiful place, the next port of adventure, and share that big heart of his with all the people he’d meet there; he’d never promised any different. Joe would leave, and god, there was the pain he’d thought had lifted.

He knew then, in a moment of sudden, intense clarity that he couldn’t do this to himself again. Joe wouldn’t even _want_ him to, if he knew what Nicky was feeling. He couldn’t continue to live here with Joe, spend every free moment with him, falling deeper and deeper in love with him, all the while waiting and hoping like an idiot, not when there was no question of a future together. It wasn’t the same as it had been with Ryan; no, this was much _worse_ , because what he felt for this man was so incredibly intense. He couldn’t do it. He had to move out. He had to move on. He had to break away from this intimacy, this dream of an existence intertwined with Joe’s. He had to build a separate life for himself and his daughter, just like he’d promised himself the day he walked out on Ryan three months ago.

Joe was right. He was more than capable of it, with the people he loved most by his side. He was enough.

“And I will treasure every moment of your friendship,” he said, just the barest shake in his voice. He kept his eyes on their entwined fingers, gripping hard for a few seconds before forcing himself to let go, not noticing how Joe’s smile slipped as he did. “For however long I can.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly, silly boys *pets them*


	6. Chicken Soup for the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arabic:  
> Wallahi: 'I swear to God', often used to mean 'Seriously' or 'Honestly'  
> Alhamdulillah: 'Praise be to God' or 'thank God'  
> Mashallah: 'What God willed', used to express appreciation or joy  
> Okhti: sister
> 
> Italian:  
> Tesoro: Darling or sweetheart  
> Grazie a dio: Thank God  
> Prego: You're welcome

“ _Wallahi_ Yusuf, why are you being such an idiot about this?”

Joe sighed and rested is aching head on the cool table, as his sister flung her arms out dramatically on his phone screen. Telling Nadia how he felt about Nicky had been the biggest mistake he’d made. The other one was introducing her to Nicky in the first place, a few weeks ago. She’d wanted to ask him about Hakim, her youngest, falling sick repeatedly, and he’d wanted to thank her for the herbal tea recipes, and it had basically been a case of BFFs at first sight.

Not that he blamed her in the least, of course. As far as he was concerned, to know Nicky was to love him.

“Are you listening to me?” God, his head hurt. He was definitely coming down with something. “I don’t understand why you won’t tell him how you feel. You’ve never had problems talking about your feelings… it’s one of things I’ve always admired about you.”

He managed to conjure up a small grin at that. “Awww _okhti,_ you admire me?”

“Shut up, Yusuf, and do not try to change the subject.” Her face softened. “I hate seeing you like this.”

He ran a hand through his curls. “He’s been going through a lot, Nadia, I told you.” The night Nicky had sobbed in his arms, his heart had _broken_ for the other man. “I don’t think he’s in the right place to hear a grand declaration of love from me.” (Because, let’s face it, that’s what it would be. Joe Al-Kaysani didn’t do these things in half measures.) “Besides, I’m not even sure he feels the same way; I don’t want to add to his problems and stress him out even more.”

Two weeks ago, before the night of The Dinner, as he now thought of it, he’d been almost certain Nicky _did_ feel something for him. They’d gotten so close, and the way he looked at Joe sometimes… But since that night, Nicky had been so withdrawn, almost distant, and they barely seemed to spend any time together. It didn’t help that Nicky had been on the night shift for the past week, and it felt like he hadn’t seen him at all. Whatever the reason, it made Joe feel an acute sense of loss, a Nicky-shaped hole in his life, and it had made him realize just how fucking hard he’d fallen for the guy.

It scared the shit out of him.

“Your love isn’t a ‘problem,’ _habibi_ ,” Nadia said, and she sounded sad. “It’s a gift.”

Was it? He wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know,” he said, and dammit, the tears were burning his already aching sinuses and clogging his already stuffy nose. “He told me all he’d ever wanted was family and stability, and look at me, Nadia. I’m hardly the poster child for either.” He huffed. “I mean, Baba tried to force it on me, and I’ve been on the run from him for 12 years.”

“Well, aren’t you tired of running?” she said softly. “You left home because Baba tried to force his idea of what your life should be on you, and you have always wanted to live it on your own terms. I don’t think it was ever family or commitment you were running from. You have the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

He wiped at his eyes. “Shit, _habibti_ , when did you get so wise?”

“I’ve always been wise,” she said smugly. “You just weren’t smart enough to know it.”

“Ha ha,” he said, blowing his nose, and wincing as his ears hurt. 

“But seriously, Yusuf, mama and I have always believed when you found your mate, on your own terms, there would be no alpha more loving or committed than you.” She sniffed. “And honestly, we were starting lose hope you would ever find them.” She leaned into the screen. “Talk to him _._ ”

“I will, I will.” At her disbelieving look, he rolled his eyes. “I was waiting to… to sort things out, okay? I talked to Ajoy… I owed him that much.”

“ _Alhamdulillah,”_ she muttered, and Joe decided to ignore the sarcasm. “What did he say?”

Joe shook his head and smiled, remembering the omega’s completely unsurprised look. “He asked me when I was going to talk to Nicky.”

“See? See? It’s so obvious to everyone but you two.”

“Yes, alright.” He rolled his eyes again, but she did seem to have a point, if the pointed comments he’d gotten from Andy before she left last week to San Francisco was anything to go by. “I spoke to Andy too; the job’s mine if I want it.”

He’d been blown away by the casual way she had offered it to him, a job of a lifetime, his dream gig, honestly – managing the gallery for her while she was away in SF (“you’re the only artist with a head for business I’ve come across that I also actually like,” was the reason she’d given him.) He wasn’t going to be foolish enough to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Especially not when it gave him a chance to be close to Nicky for as long as possible…

“Yusuf! _Mashallah,_ that’s huge news! I like that woman, I want to meet her.”

“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t sure his strong-willed sister joining forces with Andy and Quynh was a good idea, but he suspected it couldn’t be avoided. “Thanks, Nadia.”

She peered at him again. “You look like shit, go get some sleep.”

“Your sisterly concern touches me.” She snorted, and he grinned. “Yeah, I think I’ll crash early tonight.” He glanced at the time then, guiltily; close to 8 p.m. for him, so nearly 1 a.m. her time. “It’s so late for you, I’m sorry…”

“It’s the only way I could actually talk to you without being interrupted a hundred times by the little monsters,” she said, around a yawn, and he felt his heart swell with affection for his sister. “Goodnight, Yusuf.”

When he hung up, he put his pounding head in his hands, trying to work up the energy to eat dinner. Nicky had left him some stew he’d made that afternoon, he knew that from the little note with the loopy handwriting on the fridge. But doing anything beyond dragging himself to the couch and covering himself with the soft throw that smelled like Nicky seemed like too damned much of an effort, so that’s what Joe did, shivering as he snuggled into it.

Ugh, he hated being sick so much.

*

The plan had been to eventually get up, eat something and go to bed, but Joe never did make it, feeling increasingly crappy as the night wore on, and slipping in and out of uneasy dreams, woken by bouts of coughing and shivering. At some point in the early hours of the morning, he heard the front door open, and moments later, felt a cool, firm hand on his forehead.

He forced his eyes open, and blinked groggily at the beautiful green-blue-grey-eyed vision above him. He remembered the first time he’d seen Nicky had been like this too, and smiled dopily. Except Nicky’s hair had gotten even longer now, curling down below his chin, and he looked worried, a furrow between his tired eyes. Joe wanted to reach out and smooth it away. Nicky shouldn’t look so troubled, he shouldn’t look so exhausted.

Instead, he found himself wracked by a horrible bout of coughing that left him winded, and Nicky was the one comforting him, rubbing gently at his back. “Oh Joe,” he said. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmcomfy here,” Joe mumbled. “Don’t wanna move. Mmsick.”

A tiny smile tugged at those lips. “Yes, I can see that you’re sick, _tesoro_ ,” he said softly, putting an arm under his shoulder and helping him up, steadying him as Joe swayed. “And you’ll be more comfortable in bed rather than on this lumpy couch.” _Tesoro,_ he knew that word, it meant… it meant… he lost his train of thought as Nicky put his arm around him, holding him as they made their way to his bedroom. It felt so good, having Nicky close… it felt like ages since they’d even watched TV side by side on the couch. But he shouldn’t be so close, he shouldn’t get Nicky sick…

He realized he’d said the last part out loud when Nicky huffed a laugh as he lowered Joe onto his bed. “I work in a hospital, Joe,” he said, arranging his bedclothes. “I work in a hospital with _kids._ Do you know how many times a day I get coughed and puked on? There are no germs I haven’t been exposed to, so you don’t need to worry.”

 _But I do worry about you,_ he thought, _I worry about you and I want to be the one to take care of you._ But he wasn’t able to voice his muddled thoughts as Nicky brought a thermometer to check his temperature, and held his wrist lightly to take his pulse. He settled for basking in the comfort of having Nicky with him, sitting on his bed, Nicky smoothing his hair off his forehead, gently coaxing him to ‘swallow the medicine, _per favore,_ it will help you sleep better’. He felt his eyes droop, and tried to fight it, wanting to make the most of Nicky’s closeness, but he couldn’t help it, his eyes shut and he slid away into fitful sleep.

*

Things definitely went way downhill from there, and Joe didn’t remember much of that day or the next, as his fever soared, the way it tended to when he got sick. He didn’t fall ill often, but when he did, he always fell hard. He was vaguely aware of Nicky’s presence around him, of cool cloths on his forehead, of a basin in front of him and a firm arm around him when he threw up.

When the fever finally broke and he surfaced feeling wrung out and parched, it was dark out. He blinked his gummy eyes at the picture in front of him, trying to figure out what he was seeing. It was Nicky, which wasn’t unusual in and off itself, but Nicky was still in his pajamas and ratty old cardigan, and was fast asleep in what appeared to be the lone armchair from the living room, which had somehow migrated to Joe’s room. As he pushed himself up and drank from the glass of water on his bedside table, he saw that the bedside clock said 8.02 p.m. Why was Nicky home at this time?

He looked again at the other man, who let out a tiny snore and shifted, his hand on his rounded belly. Tired and light-headed as he felt, he couldn’t help but smile at the picture Nicky made curled up in that chair. He reached forward and gently tapped him on his knee; as much as he hated to wake him up, this could _not_ be a comfortable position for his back. Nicky awoke as he always did, in a single, smooth moment of transition from sleep to complete wakefulness (Joe, who took at least 15 minutes to become fully awake, saw it as some sort of superpower).

“Joe,” he said, his eyes looking almost translucent in the light of the bedside lamp as they darted to his face, “how do you feel?”

“I’m better,” he rasped, even as Nicky sat up with a slight wince, and brought his cool hand to Joe’s forehead. “Fever’s gone, I think.”

“Oh, _grazie a dio_.” He dropped his hand, and gave Joe a slightly shaky smile. “I starting to wonder whether I needed to take you to the hospital and get some fluids into you.” He ran a hand over his face. “Me falling asleep wasn’t part of the plan, but I’m glad you’re awake and feeling better now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he hated how exhausted Nicky looked, the dark circles under his eyes that never seemed to go away even darker and more deeply etched than usual. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Nicky shook his head. “Don’t apologize for being ill, you ridiculous man,” he said, lips curving into a small smile. “Do you feel like you could have some soup?”

He consulted his stomach, and found that he actually did finally have an appetite. “Yeah. But Nicky, why are you home?”

“It’s Saturday, Joe. It’s my day off.”

Shit. He’d lost two whole days. And when he was supposed to be watching the gallery in Andy’s absence too. “And before you start worrying, I’ve already rung Andy and told her you’re not going to be able to be at the gallery for a couple of days,” Nicky said, as though he’d read his mind.

“Crap, and this is the first time she’d left me completely in charge,” he muttered as he got to his feet slowly.

“I’ll write you a note.” Nicky deadpanned, staying close by his side until they reached the dining table.

Joe chuckled as he sank down in the chair. “Thank you, Nurse Nicky.”

“ _Prego_ , _prego,_ ” he said, bringing the chicken soup in a steaming bowl, with crackers, and a cup of tea. “You focus on getting better. Eat now, and I’ll change your sheets. Then if you feel up to it you can take a shower…”

“Nicky,” he said, catching the omega by the wrist without thinking. He felt him tense, and knew he’d done the wrong thing. “Nicky, please come and sit down, eat with me? That stuff can wait.”

He felt the withdrawal even before the other man physically pulled his hand away, and even though the motion was gentle, Joe felt his heart break. Because here it was again. Now that he was up and about, Nicky was distancing himself. As if to hammer the point home, Nicky stepped away towards the bedroom, his smile stilted. “It’ll just be a few minutes, and…”

When the doorbell rang, it was obvious that Nicky was almost relieved at the interruption. Joe zoned out as he stared down at the soup in mute misery, and took the first mouthful. He was sure it was delicious, but he couldn’t taste a thing. It wasn’t until he heard Nicky say, “Ryan,” in a stricken voice that he registered what was happening.

 _Don’t ask him in, Nicky,_ he thought, desperately. _You don’t need this right now._ But, of course, he did. Joe felt his hackles rise as Ryan the Rat Bastard, in a rumpled suit, tie hanging loose, walked in, carrying a small cardboard box. He truly hated everything about the other alpha, from his overly styled hair, to the air of condescension he wore around him like a coat.

“Your financial documents are all here, like you wanted,” he said, dropping the box on the couch beside which Nicky was standing, every line of his body tense.

“ _Si_ , _grazie._ ” His voice was quiet.

Ryan’s eyes flicked up to where Joe was sitting with his rapidly cooling soup. “Oh sorry,” he said sarcastically, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner with your _boyfriend_.”

Joe felt his temper flare, and resisted the intense urge to say something snarky. Or punch Ryan’s prominent teeth in. Instead, he gritted his teeth and spooned in another mouthful of soup.

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s rooming with Booker, I told you.” Nicky sounded so damned tired, but all Joe heard was ‘I told you.’ So he’d been talking to Ryan? Was that the reason why he’d withdrawn so completely from Joe? Suddenly, any appetite he’d had disappeared, and he lowered the spoon.

“Whatever.” An awkward silence fell. “Are you really moving that far south?” he said, abruptly, throwing his arm out. “It’s a terrible neighborhood, Nicky. Worse than here. It’s not right for our kid.”

Joe, who’d been trying hard to pretend not to listen froze completely at that. Nicky was moving? He knew he’d been looking for a place, of course, knew Nile had been helping him, but he hadn’t realized it had gone this far. Or that Ryan was involved. He felt his heart break open a little wider. 

Nicky’s back had gone very stiff. “That stopped being your concern months ago, Ryan.” His voice was very soft, but very cold. Joe saw Ryan bristle. “And yes, I am. Like I said, I just needed the documents before signing the lease.”

“Look, don’t be stupid,” Ryan said, and the tone was calculated to piss the other man off. “Just move back in with me, and we’ll figure the rest out once the baby comes. You’re due in what, three months? This isn’t the time for rash decisions.”

Joe was watching Nicky, trying to gauge his reaction. Trying to see if he should intervene. Because, fuck it, he might be feeling shaky as hell, but he could still take Ryan if it came down to it. Nicky had crossed his arms over his chest, a defensive posture if there ever was one. It emphasized his curve of his pregnant belly, and the tired slump of his back, and dammit, it made him look so vulnerable.

“Wouldn’t Laura have something to say about that?” he said, his voice tight.

“The engagement’s off, if that’s what you’re referring to.” When Nicky huffed a laugh, Ryan’s face tightened in anger. “This is why you came here and hung around all these years anyway, isn’t it? A better life? So I’m offering it to you. For the kid. Move back in with me, and we’ll make the best of it.”

It was, in Joe’s opinion, absolutely the worst proposal ever made in the history of mankind. If it hadn’t made him so angry, it might have made him laugh. As it was, it seemed to have stunned Nicky into silence. Then, he slowly unfolded his arms, one hand coming to rest on the top of the couch.

“Yes, I did,” Nicky said, his voice misleadingly calm. “I stayed because I believed I needed you for that better life, long after I realized I neither loved nor respected you. But I know now that I don’t. And neither does my child. One day, I’ll find a mate who’ll love me and respect me and stand by my side. You’ll never be that person. So,” his fingers on the couch tightened until his knuckles shown white, “get out.”

It was Ryan’s turn to be rendered speechless. Joe figured it was okay to talk now, so he stood, ignoring his slightly noodley-feeling legs, came to stand behind Nicky and said, quietly, “He’s not asking.”

Ryan scoffed. “Not your boyfriend, huh?”

“Get. Out.” Nicky said, again, louder.

“Fine. Fuck you, _Nicolò._ ” As Ryan turned and walked out, Joe’s eyes were entirely on Nicky. If they hadn’t been, he might have missed the way the other man swayed as he let go of the couch, or the moment his knees buckled. As it was, he was moving forward even as Nicky crumpled, and caught him in his arms, staggering backward when the other man slumped entirely in his arms, a deadweight. As he sank to his knees, cradling Nicky against his chest, he couldn’t seem to process anything except for how still Nicky was, how utterly pale that beloved face was.

When he looked up, he saw that Ryan the Rat Bastard had stopped by the door, mouth hanging open in horror.

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” Joe growled. “Call 911.” Because Nicky wasn’t stirring, and he had no idea what was wrong. As he heard Ryan talking in the background, he put his hand to Nicky’s cold cheek.

“Nicky,” he whispered desperately, “Nicolò.”

“They’re on their way,” Ryan bleated, from where he stood.

“Fine. Thanks. Now, fuck off.” Joe didn’t bother to look up and check if Ryan had obeyed this time. The only person he cared about was lying unmoving in his arms, and there was nothing else in the world he gave a damn about.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry!!


	7. Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for that evil, evil cliffhanger, here's a longer-than-usual chapter of which more than 50 per cent is fluff and found family feels (once they get the angst sorted, of course XD)  
> I hope you enjoy!! <3<3

“Joe?”

Joe looked up, blinking a couple of times to focus his gaze on the slim, dark haired woman standing before him in a doctor’s coat. Around him, the sound of the hospital buzzed on, regardless of how late in the night it was.

“Yes,” he said, standing quickly. “How… how is he?”

“He’s fine,” the doctor said. “The baby too.”

He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The past couple of hours had gone by in a nightmare daze of filling out forms, and waiting to know if Nicky was going to be alright, being told to wait outside because he wasn’t his mate or his family. God, he wanted so much to change that. He wanted to be his alpha, his husband, his family. All and more. _Now isn’t the time, Joe,_ he told himself, _focus._

“It’s just exhaustion,” the doctor was saying, “likely due to lack of sleep. He says he was on the night shift for the past week.”

Joe nodded jerkily. “And I was sick, so he was up most of the day taking care of me,” he said, feeling another surge of guilt. “And then his asshole ex came over and stressed him out.”

The doctor’s dark eyes widened. “Ah, that might explain why his BP was elevated when he was brought in. It’s normal now, but I’ll be keeping him overnight for observation, to make sure it remains stable.”

Joe nodded again, his eyes flicking past the doctor to the closed door behind which Nicky lay. He didn’t see the doctor suppressing a smile at the sight. “You can go in to see him now,” she said kindly.

He looked at her, already mentally in the room by Nicky’s side. “Thank you, doctor.”

She gave him a faint smile. “No problem.”

As he walked in, he saw that Nicky was sitting up, the hospital bed raised. “Joe,” he said, with a frown. “You should be in bed.”

Joe stared at him in disbelief. The man’s face looked more or less the same color as the hospital sheet and just as washed out, and he was _still_ mother-henning Joe? “Seriously?” he said, stopping by the bed, fighting an intense urge to fling his arms around the omega and just hold him forever. Or maybe first shake some sense into him. Or kiss him till he stopped saying stupid things. Maybe all of the above. “That’s what you have to say for yourself?”

The frown deepened. “I’m serious, Joe. Your fever was really high, and it just came down. You could end up with pneumonia if you don’t rest…”

“Nicky,” he broke in, “you don’t get to say that after fainting away dramatically in my arms. You just don’t.”

This brought a slight blush to those pale cheeks, and a small smile on those lips, just as Joe had hoped. “Was it terribly dramatic?” Nicky asked, looking at Joe through his lashes.

“Terribly,” Joe said, dropping into the chair by the bed, and giving him a crooked grin. “I think Ryan peed his pants.”

A tiny snort-laugh. “Good.” The smile slid away as he looked past Joe to the door. “Is he…?”

Joe shook his head. “I might have told him to fuck off.” And he wasn’t going to apologize for it. Ryan didn’t have to listen, anyway. Joe wouldn’t have, not if his mate and his unborn child were in possible danger.

“Good.”

The tightness in his chest loosened at that, and he looked into Nicky’s eyes, which looked intensely blue in the hospital light, and incredibly calm, considering all that had happened that night. How was it possible that he fell a little more in love with him each time he saw him? “Did you mean what you said to him earlier?” he asked, abruptly.

“Every word,” Nicky said, his voice as steady as his gaze.

Suddenly, his own words came spilling out, all the words he’d been thinking for weeks but holding back, holding back, holding back, because he didn’t trust himself, didn’t trust it was the right time. God knows this wasn’t the right time either. But maybe it was fatigue clouding his senses, maybe it was having had Nicky lying motionless in his arms, maybe it was never, ever wanting to be out in the hospital corridor waiting when he could be by Nicky’s side instead… “Because I want to be that man, Nicky. More than anything, I want to be the one who stands by you, and loves you and your child, and respects you, and takes care of you.” He saw the other man’s eyes widen, and nope, not quite blue. Blue-green, and for reasons he couldn’t understand, growing cold as he watched, like ice.

“No, Joe,” he said, sharply. “You can’t… Ajoy’s my _friend_ , and you’re…”

_Oh fuck,_ he was doing this all wrong. This was definitely not the way to go about it. “No, no, Nicky, we’re not together. We talked more than a week ago, and I told him I was in love with someone else, and he… he understood.”

Nicky’s eyes had lost that coldness, and now looked a bit lost. His mouth had fallen open, soft lips parted in shock, and Joe realized, wincing inwardly, that he’d just dropped the L word. _Nice going Joe,_ he thought, _really, nice job._ “I know, I know this is all too soon, and I know you’re going through a lot, and you don’t have to feel the same way,” he said, almost stumbling over the words in his haste to get them out. “I don’t expect that of you. And if you never do, I meant it when I said I would be happy being your friend and just being by your side. But… but I just needed you to know that, needed you to know I’m here and I want to be a part of your life in any way that you want me to be.”

He fell silent, breathing hard, and feeling like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. Why had he thought it was a good idea to have what felt like the most important conversation of his life now? His head was filled with yoghurt and there was a distinct ringing sound in his ears and he had possibly been the least eloquent he’d ever been in his entire life…

Nicky was still staring at him. “But,” he said softly, “you’re leaving… you said you’re only here until the end of summer.”

_Of course,_ he should have led with that. Joe wanted to smack himself in the head. _Doing it all backwards._ “That was the original plan, but Andy offered me a permanent job, handling this gallery since she’s going to be away in California a fair amount. She told me before she left last week.” He reached across to where Nicky’s long fingers were picking at the hospital blanket, and took them gently in his hands. “I took it immediately… partly because Andy’s brilliant and I want to keep working with her as long as I can, but mostly because I… I really want to stay close to you.”

“But it won’t make you happy, Joe,” Nicky said quietly. “Staying.”

Whatever he’d expected the other man to say, it hadn’t been that. He said it with such certainty too, such finality. Joe felt his heart sink down to the floor.

“That’s what you think of me,” he said, forcing the words past the raw hurt clogging his throat. “You think I’ll leave, that I don’t have it in me to stand by you.” He didn’t even phrase it as a question. It wasn’t, not really. It was a refrain he’d heard many, many times before. From his father, and others. And maybe it was true.

It just really hadn’t felt like it this time.

He let go of Nicky’s fingers, suddenly sapped of all the nervous energy that had been keeping him going all night. All he wanted to do was go home to bed.

“No.” He heard the shaky word before he looked up and saw that those brilliant eyes were wet with tears. Shit _,_ he hadn’t meant to upset him. Hadn’t the doctor said something about his BP? _Joe Al-Kaysani, folks, fucking things up since the ‘90s_. “No, Joe, that isn’t… I meant you… you belong out there, traveling and seeing the world and meeting new people and having new experiences and… and all those things you love so much. You have so much of yourself to give, and I don’t want to hold you here, to hold you back. I don’t... that’s what I meant.” Nicky’s hands reached across and held his tight.

Joe felt hope slowly ease its way back into his heart. Nicky was watching him, eyes wide and so damned sincere. “That’s all I did for the past 12 years, Nicky, and you’re right, I loved it,” he said, looking down at their fingers tangled together. “But these past few months, I’ve felt like I’ve found something I didn’t even know I was looking for, and I want to hold on to it forever. I want to go to work and have Andy snark at me every day. I want dinner with you and her and Quynh and Nile every weekend. I want to be here to celebrate when Jean-Pierre recovers, and to finally meet Booker in person.” Nicky gave a chuckle, damp around the edges. “I want to wake up with you every morning and make you tea, and come home to you every evening and make you laugh as we eat. I want what we’ve had these past few months forever, because you feel like home in a way no other place in the world ever has.” He took a deep breath, and looked into those eyes. “I’ve seen the world, and it’s beautiful. But now I have you, and _you’re_ my world, more beautiful to me than all the rest.”

He stopped. “And I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way. Just don’t say no because you think I don’t mean it. Because I do, with every fiber of my being.”

Nicky gave sob that was half a laugh. “Oh Joe, I’ve been in love with you for months, maybe from the very start,” he said, his voice trembling. “I understood that I’d never really loved Ryan because of the intensity of what I felt for _you_. Of course I believe you… how could I not, when I feel the same way?”

Joe stood, noodle-legs be damned, and looked at this man who could somehow just casually take his breath away with the things he said. “Nicky,” he said, determinedly, “I know you’re in a hospital bed, and I’m stinky and gross and haven’t showered in two days, but I don’t care and I’m going to kiss you now.”

Another sob-laugh. Joe decided he preferred the snort-laughs overall, but this was a close second. “If it’s with you, it’ll be perfect,” Nicky said, and then he didn’t say anything more, because Joe was finally, finally kissing those ridiculously kissable lips, hands tangled in that silky hair, and yes, he was right, of course he was, it was utterly perfect.

“I love you,” he murmured as they finally parted, their foreheads still touching, one hand cradling Nicky’s face, the other entangled with Nicky’s and resting lightly on his belly. “And I love this child and…” He broke off when he felt it, the firm kick against his palm.

Nicky had gone pink. “She does that sometimes,” he mumbled, “when she hears your voice. I think she’s as crazy about you as I am.”

Joe grinned so wide he thought his cheeks would split. He really was holding his entire world in his two hands. Then he leaned back down, still smiling, and gave Nicky another kiss, just because he could.

*

_Two months later_

“Thank you for coming to the doctor’s appointment with me,” Nicky said, as they stepped out of the hospital doors together into the icy cold February afternoon. The appointment had been midway through the work day, and he’d told Joe he needn’t come if it was difficult, but oh, it had been so wonderful to find him waiting there outside the doctor’s office, with his wind-mussed curls and a twinkle in those warm eyes. So wonderful not to go through the appointment alone as he’d done for months. “I’m so glad you made it.”

He felt Joe’s arm come around his hip, and snuggled in. He would never stop loving how tactile Joe was; he hadn’t even realized how touch-starved he’d been most of his life until the warmth of Yusuf Al-Kaysani had basically filled every corner of his existence in the past two months.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world; had to see how our girl is doing,” Joe said, ducking down to give Nicky a kiss on the shell of his ear. Nicky felt his cheek warm; Ryan had never been so open with PDA, always too concerned with outward appearances and the perceptions of the world, and before… well, his teenage years in the orphanage and then the seminary had been one long tussle with Catholic guilt and shame. “Your doctor is lovely; she was super kind to me the last time we met, when I was basically losing my mind waiting to know if you were okay.”

Nicky tucked himself even closer to his love, as if to erase any distance between them. He hated thinking of that day, even though it had ended up being one of the happiest of his life. He just hated thinking about how close he’d come to blowing it all without even realizing it, to losing the one thing he’d wanted more than anything else. Hated remembering how he’d hurt Joe because of his own fears. “Oh, Celeste is your number one fan,” he said, quirking a smile at him. “She says she’s been Team Joe from the start, ever since I told her about the mint tea.”

Joe chuckled, a happy sound that always warmed Nicky’s heart. “‘Team Joe,’ huh? I like that. She’s a woman of discerning taste.” He broke off as he focused on steering Nicky around a patch of ice on the pavement. “Watch your step.”

Nicky huffed a laugh. “Joe, you realize I walk this way every day, to and from work, right?” he said, glancing up fondly at his ridiculous mate. “I can get back home just fine by myself; you should head back to the gallery before Andy snaps your head off.”

“Oh, Andy’s okay with it,” the alpha said with a studied air of studied casualness that made Nicky suspicious. “I don’t like the look of this ice, and I’m worried you won’t see it. You wore mismatched sneakers to work yesterday and didn’t notice, my heart.”

Nicky’s lips twitched into a rueful smile. Joe might have a point. At 8 and half months pregnant, his view of his feet and the ground _was_ somewhat obstructed by his basketball-sized belly. “At least my patients all found it very amusing,” he grumbled, and was rewarded with another kiss, this time to the nose. Oh, what the heck, he was just going to enjoy having Joe fuss over him and making him feel loved. And their friends weren’t even around to gag and moan and complain about them being ‘disgustingly cute’ (Nile) and ‘irritatingly in love’ (Quynh). 

Sometimes, when they were in bed together at night, Joe cocooned around him, their hands entangled over Nicky’s swollen belly, Nicky found himself thinking about destiny, and how it had led him to Joe at one of the lowest points in his life. Joe liked to joke that it wasn’t destiny, just Booker being scatterbrained that led to them meeting, but Nicky knew in his heart it was more. There was a reason why he had walked away from Ryan and moved into Booker’s apartment just the day before Joe arrived – it was meant to be.

It just took them a few months to figure it out.

By the time they got home, though, he was thinking less about love and destiny, and more about the fact that trekking up four flights of stairs at 35 weeks pregnant was _not_ fun, and he’d completely forgotten his vague suspicions from earlier. That was the only reason (he would later maintain) why he was caught so completely unawares when Joe opened the door and turned back with a grin, saying, “Surprise!”

Nicky stared in shock at the sight of his closest friends gathered together in the living room – Andy lounging on the couch with what looked like a vodka tonic, Nile smiling so wide as she came to give him a hug, Quynh still in her work clothes, having obviously snuck away from the hospital at lunch, and standing in the middle of them all, blonde hair flopping over his forehead, and an ironic grin on his tired face, Booker.

“Booker!” He hadn’t seen the man in over six months, except for the odd video call. “You’re back!”

“Nope. I’m just here to pack up the rest of my stuff, and hand this over,” he said, giving an envelope to Nicky. “Congratulations, this crappy apartment is now officially yours and Joe’s.”

Nicky opened the envelope and stared down at the lease with his and Joe’s names on it, and then up at his love, who gave him a wink. “This is why you’ve been refusing to come and look at apartments with me all week,” Nicky said, narrowing his eyes at Joe. “How long have you guys been planning this?” 

“Just a couple of weeks, since Booker decided he was moving to Boston for good,” Joe said, slipping at arm around Nicky’s shoulders. “You have to admit, babe, you haven’t found anything as conveniently located as this. And it’s _our_ place, isn’t it?”

It was, Nicky thought, it was theirs, the place where they’d found each other, and four flights of stairs or no, he was happy to stay. “Yeah,” he said, softly. He looked at the Frenchman, who had been through so much, and had somehow found happiness again in these few months. Jean-Pierre was responding well to the treatment, and doctors were hopeful he would be in remission by the summer. And Booker and Emilie were going to give their marriage another go. “Thank you, Booker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, shrugging it off with characteristic insouciance. “There’s more.”

Nile, who looked like she was going to burst, said, “Yes, for god’s sake, show him!” and Quynh rolled her eyes at her, and Andy said, “Is there any more vodka?” and then, Booker was opening the door to the second bedroom, the one that had been Joe’s before and had now become his studio, home to the mysterious ‘masterpiece’ that Nicky hadn’t been allowed to go in and see for the past few days.

Nicky walked in and just… stopped. Because this wasn’t the room he’d seen the last time he’d come in here. This was a beautiful nursery, with a crib, a changing table, a baby carrier, and a rocking chair, and delicate blue, yellow and pink paintings of the moon, stars and sleeping animals across one wall. He put a hand to his mouth, unable to speak. “How…?” he whispered.

“Well, Emilie and I are giving marriage another go, but more kids are definitely off the table,” Booker said, leaning against the doorway, “so over the weekend, we got all of the boys’ baby stuff out, and packed it up, and I drove it over.” He jerked a thumb at Joe. “This dude was absolutely no use in reassembling any of it, by the way.”

Joe threw his arms out. “Hey, I’m an artist, not an engineer, okay? You were more interested in watching the match anyway.”

“What they mean is, they were both useless and it would have never gotten done while you were at work if it wasn’t for me and Nile,” Andy said, with a grin.

“It’s… it’s so beautiful,” Nicky said, still struggling to take it all in. He’d been incredibly happy these past two months, but his anxieties about the baby and how unprepared they were for it had been gnawing at him increasingly. Babies were expensive, and time was running out, and he’d compiled an elaborate budgeting of what they could afford and what they couldn’t, and he’d tried not to bring it up with Joe, because the other man had been so apologetic about his finances (“I promise I’ll do better at saving, Nicky,” he’d said earnestly, and it had broken his heart because he had made it his mission in life to never make Joe apologize for who he was ever again). “This was the masterpiece?” he said, realization dawning as he looked at the beautiful wall art with wide eyes.

Joe pulled him closer. “The most important one I’ll ever create,” he whispered, and Nicky closed his eyes, overcome by the sheer magnitude of the love he felt for this man.

“I think you have most things you’ll need,” Booker said.

Nicky shook his head. “It’s everything, Booker,” he said, in a choked whisper. “I don’t know how to thank you and Emilie.”

“Not everything,” Nile piped up, “I personally vetoed the boy clothes, and oh my god, Nicky, I found the coolest, funkiest baby girl outfits…”

Nicky pulled away from Joe, looking at her in dismay. He knew how strapped for cash she was, how she was working two jobs and paying off student loans. “Nile, you shouldn’t have… I told you not to spend on the baby…” he began, but Quynh shushed him with a peck on the cheek.

“Don’t worry, I was the head of the planning committee,” she said, “and that means that not only is Nile still financially solvent, or as much as is possible for a millennial to be, but that your kid has cool clothes, and also boring, necessary onesies and nappies from her other two aunts.”

That was it, that was the final straw. He tried to find the words to express how grateful he was to them, how overcome he was by their thoughtfulness and their love, but nothing seemed to come out. It was left to Booker to say, calmly, “Guys, I think we broke Nicky.”

And suddenly, Joe’s arms were around him again, and Nicky had his face tucked into the crook of his neck breathing in his calming, earthy scent, and Andy, Quynh, Nile and Booker were clustering around, their arms around them both, laughing and talking over each other, and Nicky just relaxed into the joint embrace, and allowed himself to be loved.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft and fluffy epilogue to follow!!   
> (Am I forgiven yet? XD)


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the final installment of fluff and feels, as promised!! :)) I just want to say it's been an absolute joy sharing this with you all. I'm so touched by the response this self-indulgent little fic got, and I want to thank every single person who read, kudos-ed and commented on it. I love you guys <3<3<3

_Five years later_

Joe fidgeted in his silver-grey suit, playing with his necklace, the one he’d been wearing since he was a teen, rubbing the pendant with its worn Arabic lettering between his fingers, then fiddling with his wedding ring, feeling the words they’d had inscribed there (“All and more”), and then on to the other two silver rings he wore, stopping only when he felt the full force of Andy’s icy blue glare on him. They were at the opening of his show – his first major solo show in NYC, at the upscale Soho gallery run by James Copley – and Joe was, well, he was a fricking bundle of nerves as they waited for the first guests to trickle in.

He glanced again at the door, hoping to see the familiar figure of his husband walk in. He’d spent the previous night lying with his head on Nicky’s lap’s, staring up at the ceiling and fretting. “Do you think I’m selling out?” he’d asked, “because I feel like I’m selling out, Nicky. This is the sort of thing I never wanted to do, put on a suit and do a show for critics and society snobs who know _nothing_ about art, and…”

“You’re not selling out, Joe,” he’d said, with that calm certainty of his, the one that had anchored Joe from almost the first time they’d met. “Your work is your own, just like it’s always been. All this means is that it’ll reach a wider audience, and maybe your message will touch more people.” He’d been running his fingers through Joe’s curls, and he’d stopped to tweak one. “Andy wouldn’t be standing by your side and backing you up if that wasn’t the case.”

That _was_ true; Andy even being here, dressed to kill in a sharp black suit, was a huge deal, he knew that. She and Copley had some old feud that was now in the past, and she had begrudgingly paid him the compliment of being “one of the okay ones” when Joe had told her about the opportunity a few months before. She came up to him now, and said, trademark Andy style, “Get your shit together Al-Kaysani, or I’m confiscating every piece of jewelry you own.”

Joe chuckled and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. “Sorry boss.” He glanced at the entrance again, as the door opened, and his heart leapt at the sight of figure walking in. Not his husband, but almost as good.

“Nadia!” he said, walking towards the tall omega in an elegant ankle-length blue outfit, pulling her into a hug. “You made it!”

She held him tight. “As though I would miss it! I told Hani he had to watch the kids for the weekend, or else.” She looked behind him. “Where’s Nicky?”

Of course that was her first question. He had a strong suspicion his show wasn’t the only thing that had brought Nadia to town. “Running late,” he said, even as he caught Andy’s eye. He looked in the direction she was indicating, and saw the self-important looking white man entering behind them. Shit, it was the critic who’d started this whole thing off by declaring Joe to be an ‘edgy new voice’ in the arts section of the New York magazine last year.

It was show time. “I have to go do some schmoozing,” he muttered to his sister, who patted his shoulder with a delighted grin and sent him off with a whispered, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

And so he began his rounds, his eyes reflexively looking towards the door every now and again. It wasn’t until he saw Nicky walk in, some 15 minutes later, holding little Amalia by the hand, that he finally relaxed. Those blue-green-grey eyes met his, and Nicky mouthed ‘Sorry’, and Joe smiled back with a tiny shake of the head. As though anything mattered except for the fact that he was here now. His gaze dropped down, and his daughter gave him a wide gap-toothed grin and waved frantically, and Joe smiled back even wider, waving too.

After that, something seemed to loosen up within him, and he went through the process of meeting the 'important' people much more smoothly, turning on the charm and making all the right noises. When, at long last, he found himself free for a few moments, he made his way to his husband’s side like a homing pigeon, finding him standing in front of one of the exhibits, a vast, typically abstract work full of jagged emotion in the brushstrokes.

“Hi there,” he murmured, sliding in next to him, “come here often?”

He saw Nicky’s lips twitch into a smile that was partially hidden by the too-long lock of brown hair sweeping against his cheek, and Joe reached over and tucked it behind his ear. “No, but I heard this artist is pretty amazing, so I thought I’d stop by,” Nicky said, and when he looked up at Joe, his eyes were shining. “This is incredible, _hayati_. Seeing all of it displayed here, I’m just… I’m blown away by your talent.”

Joe had just spent the past half an hour listening to various people speak about his art with varying degrees of authority and appreciation, but none of it had warmed his heart like those simple words from man he loved.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know that, don’t you?” he said, drawing closer, and as though Nicky read his mind, he leaned forward too, until their foreheads were touching for just an instant.

He heard Nicky’s huff, feeling the touch of his breath on his lips. “It’s all you, _amore mio_ ,” he said, gripping Joe’s hand tight. “I’m so sorry I was late _._ Forgive me?”

“Always,” he said, mentally cataloguing how the lights of the gallery were highlighting the beautiful lines of his husband’s face as he pulled away. “Besides, I suspect it wasn’t your fault at all.” He looked down at the tiny, warm body that was securely bundled against Nicky’s chest, and felt the familiar bloom of joy at the sight. “Sami Al-Kaysani is a born trouble maker, just like his baba.”

Another soft huff. “He was in his element, Joe. Took a giant poop just as we were about to walk out the front door,” Nicky said, sounding pained, but he was smiling as he put his hand gently on his son’s back.

“I knew it,” Joe laughed. “How is it that Nadia hasn’t stolen him from you yet? I swear she came here more to see him than to see my art.”

“She wanted to,” Nicky admitted ruefully, “but we decided in was probably wise not to move him, in case he woke up and single-handedly brought the gallery’s roof down.” Joe gave a little shudder that was only partly for show; at seven weeks old, Sami had proved beyond a doubt that he had a _very_ powerful set of lungs, and he wasn’t afraid to deploy them when unhappy.

“Besides, Mia has monopolized her completely, so she has her hands full,” Nicky said, and Joe followed his line of vision to see Amalia and Nadia tucked away in the corner with seating, the five-year-old on her aunt’s lap and obviously talking up a storm. It was a sight that never failed to warm his heart, seeing Mia with her grandparents, aunts and cousins; the child Nicky had been so afraid would be alone surrounded by family and people who adored her.

“Joe,” said a voice at his elbow, and he turned to see Nile bearing down purposefully on him, looking stunning in dull gold. “Andy says can you please tear yourself away from Nicky for a few minutes… the Whitney Biennial lady just arrived, and you need to go talk to her.”

“Hey Nile,” he said, enveloping her in a hug. “I didn’t see you come in… Is Lykon here too?” Nile and Lykon getting together was a recent development that absolutely no one had been surprised by, after several years of each being unable to stop talking about the other.

Nile jerked a thumb over her shoulder as she hugged Nicky gently, careful not to disturb Sami. “Over there, bonding with Booker like they’re long-lost bros.” Joe looked over and smiled wide at the sight of Booker and Emilie coming into the gallery, followed by Jean-Pierre and Henri looking adorably awkward in suits. His family was all here, and he felt like his chest would burst with gladness. Nile poked his arm to snap him out of his happy daze. “Now go, or Andy will kill you.” 

He sighed. “Okay, okay. Where is Andy, anyway?”

“She said the air of privilege in here is ‘making her feel ill,’ so she stepped out,” Nile said, with a grin. “But don’t worry, Quynh said she’d drag her back in.”

Joe shook his head, turning towards Nicky. “I’ll be right back, _ya rouhi,_ ” he said, dropping a kiss on his husband’s lips, and then on his son’s little mop of curls. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be here.” Nicky gave him a soft smile that said, _always_. “Now go.”

* 

Much, much later, after the opening had been officially declared a success by Copley and the lights had gone down in the gallery, after he and Nicky had dropped Nadia off in her hotel, stopping for a quick video call with his parents (if his father was more concerned with how many pieces had sold and at what price, rather than with the art itself, well, _that_ relationship was still a work in progress), and after they had all unanimously agreed to take the after party to Andy and Quynh’s, Joe finally had a chance to catch his breath.

It was all quiet in the loft now. Nile and Lykon had left first, to continue the party at a bar downtown run by an old friend of Lykon’s. It had been wonderful to see how in love the two were, and they had good-naturedly taken the ribbing over being ‘that couple’ and ‘disgustingly cute’ all evening (Joe and Nicky had especially enjoyed paying them back in kind). Booker and family had departed a bit later, father and older son bickering non-stop over whether 16-year-old Jean-Pierre would be allowed to test out his newly-acquired driving license on the drive back to Boston the next day (“They’ve been at it _all_ day,” Emilie had said, rolling her brown eyes at them with exasperated fondness).

The only sounds now were of the clink of dishes and Andy and Quynh talking softly as they cleaned up in the kitchen. Joe looked down at the sound of a gurgle from the little bundle in his arms, and smiled at the sight of Sami blinking up at him with those familiar blue-green-grey eyes, getting bopped on the nose for his efforts by one chubby little fist.

“Ow,” he whispered, taking the tiny hand in his, “there’s no need for violence, _habibi_.” Sami gurgled again in agreement, clutching tightly at his finger. Curled up against his side, Nicky mumbled something in Italian before going back to sleep, and Joe smiled, feeling impossibly fond. Mia, who was as fast asleep as her papa, was sprawled on the sofa, her head on Joe’s lap, his suit jacket draped over her. He dropped his hand, stroking gently her silky dark hair, so like Nicky’s, and wondered how he ever got this lucky.

There were times when it scared him, how intensely he loved all three of them, how he would give anything for them to be happy and safe. But at that moment, in the quiet, dark apartment, surrounded by their warmth on all sides, he felt only peace and gratitude.

When he’d received the invitation to do the solo exhibition from Copley six months before, he’d almost turned it down, knowing that Nicky was due very close to the date. But Nicky hadn’t let him, saying in that calm way of his, “We’ll handle it, together.” And they had, somehow. Amidst all the craziness, they had done it. Sami had done his bit by arriving a couple of weeks early, and Nile, Andy, Quynh and even Rachel (who had definitely grown on Joe over the years) had chipped in by taking Amalia off their hands when they needed a break (she, of course, had been thrilled to get extra time with _all_ her cool aunts). At Nicky’s suggestion, Andy had given Joe a small studio space to work in behind the gallery, because, “ _Tesoro,_ there is no way you’ll be able to work here in the apartment once the baby arrives.”

He’d been right, of course, like he usually was. Nicky, who had been at the heart of it all, his anchor, his moon, his cornerstone, his everything. It was no surprise, really, that this breakthrough had come now for Joe, at the grand old age of 38. The past five years had been his most creative; contrary to Nicky’s worries about him holding Joe back, his and Mia’s steadfast love seemed to have released something within him, the restless energy that had carried him from place to place to place now unleashed in torrents in his art. In his moments of incurable romanticism (as Nicky called it), he liked to say that Nicky was everything he’d never realized he’d been searching for, all those years.

He smiled softly now as Nicky snorted in his sleep, and shifted slightly where his head rested on Joe’s shoulder. He needed to wake him up, he knew that, and they needed to go back home, but there was no rush. Joe would crash soon himself, having finally relaxed and unwound after the relentless stress and anxiety of the past few days. And once he did, he’d be out like a light, and not even a tornado (or Sami’s crying) would wake him, which meant he would be of no help to Nicky with the little guy, who was looking ridiculously awake and chirpy after his long nap at the gallery.

No, the least he could do was let his love nap just a little longer.

As though to call his wandering attention back to himself, Sami grabbed at Joe’s beard with a determined little fist and tugged. That called for retaliation, of course, so Joe raised him and blew a raspberry softly on his tummy, being rewarded with another gurgle and a wide, gummy grin, the one that Nicky swore was exactly like Joe’s own.

Yes, he was okay to stay here just a little while longer, grounded and surrounded by the people loved most in this world.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hayati: My life  
> Ya Rouhi: My soul  
> Amore mio: My love  
> (AKA the boys being saps in two languages)


End file.
